Should I Fall
by TinyDragongirl
Summary: What if Ray Wyatt's gun went off when Henry tried to stop him from shooting Bill...? A redemption fic aka my very slow-burn Henrigail story.
1. Chapter 1

Henry sees Wyatt reach into his pocket, and that can mean only one thing. In a fraction of a second he grabs Wyatt's hand, trying to twist it, hard, in order to make him drop his revolver. Wyatt is fighting him, pushing and pulling; it's a short tug of war over the gun, a matter of seconds. Then a roar bursts, so loud it makes Henry's ears ring and shakes him to the core. He wonders what this noise could be.

The agonizing pain in his chest gives him the answer: he was shot. The gun went off, accidentally; maybe Wyatt shot him, maybe he shot himself. Henry doesn't really have time to think about it, his mind is too busy with trying (and failing) to control his collapsing body. He feels weak and confused. There is nearly not enough air to breathe. Where did the oxygen go? Not to mention the light! Not enough light to see what's happening around him. He _needs_ to see that Avery has done something with Wyatt... something with handcuffs?... He needs to focus, but he can't. They are too far, too high above, and he is too low on the ground.

But if he focuses really, really hard, he can see something else. Abigail's face is hovering over him. Her lips are moving, she is saying... She is saying... his name?

'Henry! Henry, stay with me!'

She is holding his hand: is she trying to comfort him - or is she searching for his pulse? Henry needs a pulse for some reason, a pulse is very important... Right now he just can't remember why. Abigail's skin is very warm, interestingly. Or maybe it's his hands that are cold? But what is this dark coldness around him? It can't be air, if it was air, he could breathe, but he just can't, and it makes his vision blurry. It's hard to see Abigail's face, but he needs to, because he must tell her something.

'Abigail...' croaks Henry.

It's painful, but he must do this. There is something important to tell her. He just needs to focus and form the words, before he runs out of time... The realisation hits him like cold water: he is running out of time, and he is not ready. Henry is not ready to die, no. Not this way, please, not when he is guilty and nothing's been done about that. No, He must give him just a bit more time.

'Please, don't make me go... Just don't. I'm not r-ready... Please,' Henry begs Him miserably.

'We won't let go of you, Henry.' Oh, but it's Abigail's trembling yet soothing voice, not the one he asked. Maybe He doesn't care about such a sinful soul as Henry.

Maybe Henry Gowen has used up all his time in this world.

'Abigail, please, I need you...' he wheezes, but manages to force the words out: 'I need you to forgive me.'

'Henry, you will be alright... Just stay with me, okay?'

She doesn't understand, so he tries again, desperately: 'Please, I need... your forgiveness. Forgive... Forgive me.'

'I forgive you,' she says, her eyes watering, and Henry finds he can take a deep breath, finally - just before darkness shrouds him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: The previous chapter was betaed by a dear friend, who is extremely busy with her thesis these days. (Hold on, girl, not long now!) My other dear friend and beta is also snowed under with work, so I did not have a beta for the second chapter. Oh, and English is not my native language. Sorry for the mistakes! Any helpful remarks are welcome.**

 **The long and the short of it, I am looking for a beta-reader for this story. Please, send me a message if you are willing to put up with me and my grammar.**

When Henry comes to his senses, everything seems to be white around him. That is his first impression before a rush of different sensations hits him, making his head spin. He feels a throbbing pain in his chest. He feels weak. He feels lost and confused.

'Where am I?' he croaks, his eyes swimming.

A woman's voice comes from nearby: 'At the infirmary. You were shot.'

Henry tries to turn his head. From the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of a white figure, but before he could move his head properly or take in more of his surroundings, he loses consciousness again.

He repeats this three or four times: he awakens for a few seconds, desperately tries to grasp onto something, but always falls back into oblivion. There is always a white shadow with the familiar voice of a woman and once with the less familiar voice of a man, patiently answering his question.

 _At the infirmary._

 _You were shot._

These six words stay with him as he is floating in and out of consciousness. At first they burn his mind, chasing each other over and over in his head. They don't make any sense, not before his brain manages to catch up with them, setting the words out in a line until they add up to a sentence. _Attheinfirmaryouwereshot. At the infirmary you were shot. At the infirmary. You were shot. You were shot. You were shot. Shot. At the infirmary._

It means that he is alive. By the gift of His infinite grace, Henry is still alive. He holds onto this thought next time he wakes and darkness finally lets him go.

Henry lies at the infirmary because he was shot. The woman with the familiar voice is Nurse Carter. She helps him piece everything together. She keeps him company, slowly filling him in with the details.

Henry was shot. Carson Shepherd is not a cook but a doctor. He saved Henry. Henry is alive.

Henry was shot. The bullet didn't hit bone or a vital organ, but he lost a lot of blood. He had to undergo immediate surgery. Carson Shepherd is not a cook but a doctor. People have their secrets, and Carson's secret saved Henry's life. Henry is alive.

Doctor Shepherd checks on Henry as soon as he arrives back to the infirmary. He wasn't there when Henry woke because he went on a house call to Mrs Kingston, who broke her leg. Apparently he is town doctor now. Henry is alive because Carson Shepherd changed his mind about his vow of never again practicing medicine.

Henry was shot and he lost so much blood they didn't know for sure if he would pull through. Abigail visited him several times while he was unconscious, sitting next to his bed, talking to him and praying for him. Bill looked in twice, asked Faith about Henry's condition, then sat in the corner for a while, in perfect silence. Faith couldn't say anything reassuring to neither of them. Doctor Shepherd and she did the best they could. Henry lost a lot of blood. But he is alive.

He feels alive. He feels weak and he has a constant pain in his chest where the bullet hit, but he doesn't care about how much it hurts to take a breath as long as he can breathe. There is still enough blood left in his body to pump his heart - or the thing in the place where his heart should be. He inhales the air in the room and he can almost taste the disinfectant on his tongue.

He can taste. Smell. Touch. Hear. See. He can see the faint sunlight coming through the window. When he was lying on the ground, consumed by fear and pain, he didn't believe he would ever see the sun again. It would have been the easy path, to give up and let go of everything - the sun above his head and the ground under his feet. Henry Gowen would have died an honourable death at the end of a dishonourable life. But he was not meant to take the easy path. Redemption has a price, and Henry got a second chance to pay it.

Although it's hard to step on the road to redemption holding his head high, while his body is aching and he can barely move.

Henry feels alive. For that he is immensely grateful - but being alive also brings a lot of unpleasant feelings. Shame. Regret. Doubt. Will he be able to work his way through them, no matter how it hurts? Time alone will tell.

The door opens, and an unexpected visitor interrupts his silent meditation.

'Hello, Henry. Faith.'

It's Bill. He looks his usual self, and Henry finds himself looking at Bill with his usual distrust. Well, he didn't take a bullet for him because he liked him. He did what he did because he thought it was morally wrong to shoot someone. That is all. Apparently his feelings towards Bill Avery weren't altered by his near-death experience.

'Bill.' Henry greets the man with a nod.

'Good afternoon,' Nurse Carter smiles.

'Carson said Henry had awaken and he could be visited.'

'Well, if Henry feels well enough…' Faith looks at him and Henry nods. He doesn't feel particularly well, but he feels alive and that's enough for now. 'Alright. Do you mind if I step out for a minute? I need to place an order for iodine at the mercantile.'

'We will be fine,' Bill promises. Henry raises an eyebrow. _We?_

The nurse takes her coat and heads for the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she turns back and playfully wags a finger at the sheriff: 'Don't upset my patient.' She looks at Henry with a soft smile: 'I won't be long.'

Then the door closes behind her and the two men are left alone in a heavy silence.

'May I…?' Bill gestures at the chair next to Henry's bed.

'Be my guest.'

Bill takes the chair, turning it around, then straddling it. Probably a gesture of dominance, thinks Henry.

'We need to clear up a few things.' Bill starts with clearing his throat. Henry suspects it's going to be a longer conversation than he would wish to have with this very man. 'First of all: I will always be grateful to you for saving my life.'

Strong opening. Old Henry Gowen would have liked to have Bill Avery in his debt. Once or twice it surely would have come useful to remind him how Henry had saved his life. However, to this new Henry the idea doesn't sound appealing at all. He is still not a fan of Bill, but the pain in his chest seems to have taken away his appetite for having people in his pocket.

'I don't think we will ever be friends,' Bill goes on, 'and I don't think I will ever understand you, Henry.'

'You and me both.'

'Nevertheless, I won't forget to tell the judge about what you did.' How generous, Henry would like to say, but he stays silent. Cynicism might be slowly leaking out of him through his wound. 'You are guilty and you are under arrest. When Carson says that you are fully recovered from your injury, you will take your place in the jail, but you won't be transferred to Cape Fullerton before Christmas.'

'A jail is a jail, but thank you, I guess.'

It could have been different. Henry is alive, but he is probably going to spend the rest of his life in jail. Maybe not the rest of his life, but let's say he gets imprisoned for five years. Who will he be in five years? Nobody. A lonely man. Everyone will go on with their lives while his life is put on hold. He could ask Bill what is the maximum sentence for his crime, but he can't bring himself to it. What does it matter anyway? He should learn to accept his fate.

If he had died… If he had died, he would have lost all his chances to redeem himself. Being alive is his second chance, no matter how slim it is.

'I will arrange with Abigail to give you something you could pass as community service.'

Abigail. Her name alone makes Henry's chest ache. He tries to brush the feeling off with a scoff: 'I guess I will be eating my share of humble pie as soon as I am out of this bed.'

'I hope you have a big appetite.'

Henry grimaces. He will work up an appetite later. Right now he can't stomach this conversation anymore. He feels tired, fatigued even, his concentration is slipping.

'Even though you are always such a pleasant company, could you just leave now?'

'Even though I don't suppose you could slip away in your condition, I'd prefer to stay here until Faith returns,' Bill says matter-of-factly. 'But you don't have to chat with me if you don't want to.'

Henry wishes he could give him a sharp reply, but he feels too tired to argue. Bill moves his chair away from the bed, into a corner, but it still feels awkward having him around. Henry tries to fight off the weariness settling on his brow, to no avail. No doubt their conversation has tired him too much, and he can't help but fall asleep with Bill watching over him. Nothing like that has seldom if ever in his life happened to him. His last thought before drifting off is a disturbing question: would it have been easier for everyone if he had died…?


	3. Chapter 3

Spending the days in a one-room infirmary means a lot of people passing by, therefore disturbing Henry's quiet rest.

They try to keep Henry as secluded as possible, however, a curtain around his bed does not provide too much privacy. Doctor Shepherd goes on house calls, but there is always someone coming in with an earache or a fever. Even though they can't see Henry and vice versa, their curiosity is almost palpable in the air. Everyone knows he is in there, behind that curtain. The disgraced mayor who stole from the town. A criminal. The man who saved Bill Avery's life.

It does not matter they can't actually look at him, they still make Henry feel like a caged animal. It makes him unsettled, keeping him in a state of nervous tension. He tries to spend the best of the day with sleeping in order to get his strength back. Sleep has a healing power, Doctor Shepherd says. Sleep is also Henry's defense mechanism against the unwanted presence of people. His nights are troubled by nightmares anyway, so he welcomes sleep if it comes during the day at least.

That is the reason why Henry does not see Abigail until the third day since he came to. Despite people regularly coming to the infirmary, Henry does not have many visitors. Bill checks in on him once in a day, but he never stays to chat. Henry is told that Abigail has already visited him several times, too, she just did not want to rouse him when she found him asleep. It's a pity, but at the same time Henry is relieved. He is not sure if he is ready to face her.

On the third day Faith offers to shave Henry but he prefers to do it himself. The good nurse leaves him to it. Henry wonders why she did not put up any objections. Maybe Bill forgot to mention her that criminals were not to be trusted with sharp instruments. But she must surely know that. Well, Henry isn't complaining, he just tries to understand her better. Faith is always patient with him, but that goes with the territory he supposes. She often smiles at him. Although her smile is not as soft as Abigail's, it's a genuine smile. All in all, Henry believes Faith is kind with him purely out of pity.

Henry chooses a sunlit spot for the procedure of shaving, carefully hiding behind his curtain. He smears soap suds on his face, and picks up the razor. Then puts it down.

His hand is slightly trembling.

He can't shave with shaky hands, not without cutting himself. He can't ask Nurse Carter to help him either because less than two minutes ago Miss Thatcher ushered Philip Cantrell into the infirmary and Faith is examining the boy now. The kid has a stomachache.

'How does it hurt, Philip? Is it a stabbing pain or…?'

'It feels like my stomach is really small but wants to be even smaller.'

'Hmm. Cramps can mean a lot of things. I am going to touch your tummy now. Tell me if it hurts when I touch you, all right?'

Henry can't see their faces but he can just imagine them, the two women looming over that poor boy. Miss Thatcher probably has a worried look on her face, while Faith Carter must be smiling in her gentle, calming way. Maybe kindness is part of her nature, not just an accessory to her uniform.

'Did you eat something you didn't like? Something that didn't taste good.'

'I don't know. No, I think. No.' The Cantrell boy sounds so frightened, so small. 'Is my dad sick, too?'

'Why would you think that, Philip?'

'He couldn't sleep last night. He was tossing and turning in his bed, I could hear it. His stomach must have hurt, too.'

'And how did he look this morning, Doctor Philip?' Faith tries to ease the child's worry with a bit of humour.

'Sleepy.' The boy's honest, direct answer brings a small smile even to Henry's face. 'And he asked me some very strange questions. He asked me if I would like to live in a bigger town. But I told him that Hope Valley was big enough for me.'

'Oh, Philip…'

Miss Thatcher's rueful voice only makes the kid more anxious.

'What's wrong with me?'

'An upset stomach, nothing more,' Faith says to ease his discomfort. 'You will be fine, you just need some rest.'

'That's good news. Can I take him home now?'

Before Faith could answer Elizabeth's question, the door of the infirmary opens and closes. Someone has arrived.

'Good afternoon.'

Henry would recognise Abigail's voice anywhere.

'Hello, Abigail. Are you here to see Henry?'

'Yes, I am. Sorry for intruding.'

'You are lucky today. Actually… Would you mind staying with Henry for a while? I want to take Philip home, and look after him until his father arrives.'

They are talking about Henry in the same way they talk about Philip. Stay with him. Guard him. They treat him like a child. Any other time Henry's pride would be deeply hurt by this, but right now he is too busy to care. The pain in his chest requires his full attention. Somehow it feels sharper now, and closer to the heart area.

'We could read a story together if you want to. How does that sound, Philip?'

'Sounds good.'

'Would you mind, Abigail?'

'Not at all.'

The pain has subdued - it is still there, but it is no more than a dull ache now. Basically everything is back to normal. Henry takes a breath. He is alive.

'Doctor Shepherd will be back soon, I am sure. Or… Elizabeth, please, could you drop by the Montgomerys on your way home? Carson is visiting Cat Montgomery, so if you would just tell him to come and see Philip after he is finished there…'

'Of course.'

'How is Cat doing?' Abigail inquires.

'Fine, I think.' Faith's voice sounds almost convincing, which probably means that recently Cat has been _relatively_ fine.

Henry remembers Cat Montgomery falling seriously ill around the time when the trial of the Pacific Northwest Mining Company took place. She has never fully recovered. Her eldest, Gabe had to quit school and take a job in Cape Fullerton to support the family. Strange. Henry has never thought about it before, but now the Montgomerys' situation seems so… unfair to him. The widows paid a teacher to come to the town because education was the only chance for a better future they could offer to their children - and yet, without a father and with a sick mother Gabe had to give up his studies for a menial job with menial pay. Maybe his sister will be luckier.

'Henry?'

He got so lost in his thoughts he didn't even notice Faith and Elizabeth leaving with Philip. It's just Abigail and him now. She is standing there, looking at him quite astounded… Oh. Henry was too busy listening to the conversation at the other side of the curtain, and forgot to wash his face. Now his face is dripping with soap. And it is still bristly like sandpaper.

'I am sorry,' he says self-consciously, reaching for a towel. 'I was just… shaving.'

'You certainly look much better than the last time I saw you, ghastly white and unconscious.' Abigail cracks a half-hearted smile.

'Thank you, I guess,' Henry says, wiping the soap off his face. His chin will stay stubbled for one more day, it seems.

'How are you feeling?'

'Apart from being too weak to shave and the fact that I was out for days? Never better.'

'May I help you? Please.'

When in his astonishment Henry forgets to protest, Abigail gently smears soap on his face (again) and picks up his razor. Her hand isn't trembling.

'I will be careful,' she promises. As if Henry had ever thought differently. 'We were newlyweds when my Noah sprained his wrist and he couldn't shave for three weeks without cutting himself. He looked like he had fought with a cougar. Finally I took things into my own hands and tried to shave him myself. It took me ages but I didn't cut him.'

Henry can't listen to this anymore. The sharp face of Noah Stanton appears in front of him brighter than ever. He is dead because Henry falsified the safety reports of the mine. Abigail Stanton lost her husband in an accident that could have been prevented. There is nothing left of Noah but memories.

Henry takes Abigail's wrist, gently pulling her hand away from his face.

'I had no right to ask for your forgiveness,' he says quietly. His hand might be trembling but he manages to keep his voice even.

'You had every right.'

Why must this woman be so gentle, so sympathetic? It is almost annoying.

'The moment he arrested me I told Bill I would turn state's evidence. On truth, I just want to save my own skin. You have no reason to forgive me,' Henry explains dryly.

'I see. And when you stopped Wyatt from shooting Bill, was that to save your own skin, too? Because you did an awful job then.'

Henry can't bear her looking at him with such soft eyes. For some odd reason he doesn't understand this woman was worried about him. She kept visiting him and prayed for his recovery. He almost loathes himself for it but he has to shatter this image that she has of him. Almost dying did not change him, and certainly did not make him a better man.

'I couldn't do it again. It was too much.' He shudders. The pain was not even the worst, no. He could take all the pain (if he must) but he couldn't stand that overwhelming feeling of helplessness again. 'Ray Wyatt was right. I am a coward.'

'I don't remember a single time Ray Wyatt did or said something right,' Abigail says firmly.

Surely she doesn't mean that. Ray Wyatt brought the railway to Hope Valley, she should appreciate that as the mayor of the town and everything. Still, her words make Henry's heart swell with gratitude. Even if he knows he does not deserve her kindness.

In his mind Noah Stanton's face is joined by the others. Peter Stanton. Joseph Montgomery. Paul Blakeley. Patrick Sullivan. Robert Dunbar. William Hayford. Forty-seven men, fathers and sons, died in a mining disaster that could have been prevented. Most of them must have been killed instantly, but Henry can't stop thinking about those who had an agonizing, slow death. Suffocating. Internal bleeding. Doctor Shepherd would know how many ways a man can die in a mine.

 _Forgive me, Pa_

Noah Stanton spent his last minutes in this world writing these three words on a plank. Henry had no right to ask for Abigail's forgiveness, no matter how terrified he was.

'Are you feeling unwell?' Abigail knits her brows. Henry shakes his head. 'Then no more talking now.' She puts a hand on his face and turns his head towards the light. 'I can't shave you if your facial muscles keep moving.'

'Could you tell me what has happened lately in Hope Valley?' Henry asks a bit lamely. 'The small things, I mean. I don't hear much about the town in this room.'

He doesn't want to think about those forty-seven men. How did they die, why did they die… If he hadn't worried about these questions before, he won't start it now.

'Why, of course.' And there is that smile again.

While she is shaving Henry, Abigail tells him stories about the everyday life of Hope Valley. She is excited because they are expecting Becky in two days - she is coming home to study, and to celebrate Cody's birthday, of course, which is in about a fortnight. Shane Cantrell is drawn to Faith Carter but he seems to be in denial about it. Elizabeth thinks he might be afraid that inviting Faith for dinner and other acts of courtship would be too hard on Philip. Oh, by the way, Elizabeth hosted a small sleepover for the girls from school! It went really well with a bit of help from Rosemary. Frank got an opportunity to work at the Children's Hospital in Cape Fullerton, which is wonderful. He will start his volunteer work in mid-December and won't return to Hope Valley until late January. Abigail also mentions that AJ Foster has escaped and she is on the run, and Ray Wyatt will be transferred to Cape Fullerton in the upcoming days.

Henry does not really care about these people and he is certainly not interested in their lives. He asked Abigail to talk about them only because he needed a distraction. However, if he really pays attention, he can almost hear the unspoken words as well as what Abigail said.

Mr Cantrell is worried about the emotional consequences of a courtship for his son - and for himself. Miss Thatcher misses her fiancée and she won't stop worrying about him until he is back safely. Abigail will miss Pastor Hogan while he is away but she would never show it.

Maybe one day Henry will learn to see people for who they are. If he really pays attention.

That night, lying sleepless in his bed, Henry recalls all the forty-seven names and faces, one by one. Then he takes an oath: he will earn Abigail's forgiveness if it is the last thing he does.

 **Author's note: I'm still looking for a beta (and English is still not my first language…), so please feel free to point out any mistakes I might have made.**


	4. Chapter 4

Doctor's orders, Carson says, and Bill reluctantly agrees to let Henry take a short walk every day.

'I can't believe,' Bill grumbles, 'I have to play chaperon.' Nevertheless, he goes to the infirmary every single day, and escorts Henry as he walks his way to health.

Leaving the infirmary for the first time is awful. Faith offers him his walking stick but Henry refuses to look like an old invalid. However, he soon starts to question his decision as he finds walking more tiresome than he remembered. There is just too much air around him, and before long he has to fight for every step because his muscles don't want to cooperate.

'Let's head back,' he grunts eventually. He is not even fifty, yet he is shuffling like an old man, and every step sends a jab of pain to his chest.

'Are you alright?' Bill asks.

Henry imagines that he says no, I am not, give me a hand. Then he limps back to the infirmary, arm in arm with Bill Avery. Singing a sea shanty, probably. What a picture. Only if simple existence didn't hurt so much, Henry could almost find it humorous.

Instead, he just shrugs. 'I'm fine,' he says, then grits his teeth, and finds his way back to the infirmary. It is a slow, weary, yet determined walk.

They have almost made it back uneventfully when Bill trips on the steps leading up to the infirmary. He reflexively grabs Henry's left elbow to steady himself. Miraculously they manage to stay up, and together they stumble to the door. What shall we do with the drunken sailor, Henry thinks, suppressing a groan.

On the other hand, he is relieved that Bill keeps holding onto him until they reach a seat Henry can take. Even this short walk drained him completely. How pitiful when a man, who once had everything, has to be grateful for every step he can take. But of course, what does he mean by _everything_? Maybe breathing and walking the streets of Hope Valley is far more valuable than anything he had ever owned.

Henry never asks for his walking stick. He will go as far as he gets on his own, may it be two steps or the next corner. Not that he has too many roads to take. Every step brings him nearer to his doom. He should just walk back and forth between the infirmary and the jail. Practice the route he is meant to take. He might be on a long leash, but he is not free anymore.

The next time Bill comes for Henry, Nurse Carter accompanies them for a while. She promised to bring Mrs McCormick her medicine, she says. Henry suspects she probably wants to check up on them after their last staggering performance.

'How is the Cantrell boy?' Henry enquires, and the nurse's face lights up hearing Philip's name. Good. Divert her attention from Henry's slow, cautious steps.

'Right as rain. He had a good night's sleep,' says Faith, smiling fondly, 'and the day after Elizabeth brought him in he was eager to go back to school. Thank you for asking.'

Even though Henry does not really care for the boy, he finds that it is nice to hear that Philip is alright.

'Shane, I mean, Mr Cantrell was offered a job in Union City,' Faith goes on. 'A well-paying job, surely, but they should have left Hope Valley if he had accepted the offer. Mr Cantrell decided that they would stay here with us. Life is cheaper in Hope Valley than in some fancy city, he said, and they have all their friends here. I myself truly believe there is a reason they have come to live with us. It would have been sad had they left the people who... care about them.'

'I wonder what or who made Shane Cantrell change his mind,' Bill teases her, but Faith does not rise to the bait, just giggles. Although her cheeks turn slightly pink.

As he slowly gathers his strength, Henry perceives more and more of his surroundings. He soon realises that the infirmary, even when it was crowded with patients, has shielded him from the more unpleasant experiences. Out in the open Henry can't escape the disapproving looks and stares from the people of Hope Valley. Just in front of the mercantile he can see Florence Blakeley and Molly Sullivan having a heated conversation but abruptly stopping mid-speech when they notice him looking at them. Florence's lips are pressed very firmly together, as if trying to restrain herself from saying something. She does not have to restrain herself too long as Bill senses their mood, and addresses the two women:

'Is there a problem, ladies?'

Head held high, Florence Blakeley speaks: 'It does beg the question what is he doing out in the streets.'

'With due respect, Mrs Blakeley, it is my duty to ensure that the prisoner lives to see his trial. If Doctor Shepherd says Henry needs to walk to restore his health, I won't question his medical opinion. My personal opinion does not matter in this case.'

'I see,' Florence sniffs, slightly mollified.

She has always been quick to judge others, but her bark is actually worse than her bite. Truth to be told, Henry has such a big log in his eye that the sawmill workers could cut a ton of lumbers from it, so let's not dwell on the splinter in Florence's eye anymore. Still, the encounter leaves a bad taste in Henry's mouth. Florence and Molly are not malicious women. They surely gossip a lot, and they might hold a grudge against Henry, but they are actually good-hearted. Yet they can't bear the thought of walking the same streets as him.

Although rare, there are more pleasant encounters.

One day as they are walking in the rain (Henry is in a terrible mood and Bill does not look happy either), they notice Abigail coming out of the mercantile with an expression of radiant delight on her face. She goes almost dancing towards the two men, waving to them, like they are two friends taking a stroll in the afternoon, not the town's sheriff and a wounded criminal.

'Wonderful day, isn't it?' she smiles at them.

Bill and Henry exchange a look of disbelief. It is pouring, and the sheriff has to chaperone a criminal for medical reasons, while they don't particularly like each other. Their situation is the opposite of wonderful, to put it mildly.

'You look very happy,' Henry comments. It might not be the smartest statement of the year, but seeing Abigail so happy gives him a sense of contentment, too. He wants to know more about the source of it. What makes her smile so brightly? What helps her see the blue sky behind the dark clouds?

'Can you two keep a secret?'

'Why, of course.'

When Bill stays silent, Henry nudges him with his elbow. They might not get on well, but Bill is getting to know Henry's left elbow quite well.

'What? I mean, yes, we can.'

Abigail leans a bit closer. The two men find that they are instinctively mirroring her.

'The official adoption degree has just arrived. From now on I am the mother of Becky and Cody.'

'But that's great, Abigail!' exclaims Bill. 'Why is it such a big secret?'

'I want to surprise them with the news on Cody's birthday.'

'Our lips are sealed,' Bill promises.

'Congratulations,' Henry manages to say. He is too surprised to say anything else.

Abigail is a mother - again. She has been taking care of Cody and Becky for a while now, but this is something new. The adoption papers say that she isn't just acting like one, she is a mother. Again. From this day until… Until when? Until their last breath?

Abigail bids them a good day and leaves them, and the colours seem to fade away. She has taken her happiness with her, leaving only morsels behind. At least this is how it seems to Henry. Bill looks more content now, asking him if he wants to go on or return to the infirmary in a tone that one could call cheerful. Almost friendly, but let's not go that far.

Henry walks back to the infirmary in a pensive state.

Maybe Abigail has never stopped being a mom. Or does a woman stop being a mother when her child dies? Henry doubts that. He has never thought about it before, but Abigail has got the singular ability to knock down his carefully built ignorance from time to time. He must admit that Abigail is never acting. Hence she has never _acted_ as a mother - she has been and will always be one. The mother of Peter Stanton. The mother of Cody and Becky. The mother of the community. Goodness, she takes her role very seriously. Once she actually told Henry that the people of Hope Valley were his family.

Family is so important for everyone but Henry.

He does not have a family. Well, he has a brother, but they haven't talked in twenty-five years. James wanted to make his fortune as a sailor. Last time Henry saw him he was about to board a boat to Singapore. They have never cared much about blood ties anyway.

Henry feels he will never get to experience such an extreme happiness as Abigail's. And it has nothing to do with parenthood. It is all about caring. You need to care about others, unselfishly, letting them close to you. Closer than it would be comfortable. So close they could hurt you. They could betray you. If you let people in, that can bring great joy, but it is also a great risk. This ambiguity is the source of Abigail's happiness, and the realisation makes Henry think that he will never smile so brightly if this is the cost. He is not even fifty, but he feels too old to open his heart for someone. One open wound in his chest was more than enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Time goes by slowly but surely. Days become weeks. The silent ebb and flow of life lulls everyone in Hope Valley into a calm, balanced state. The everydays are filled with little joys and minor tragedies.

Henry is released from the infirmary. He finds the jail a much calmer, quieter place, and he himself feels more peaceful since the pain in his chest has ceased. The area is still sensitive, and he is not allowed to lift heavy objects for a while, but Abigail and Bill make a list of things for him to do without overstraining himself. How… considerate.

'I am sure you can lift a brush,' Bill says as he is unlocking Henry's cell, 'and your old office needs a little sprucing up.'

Though he would never admit it, Henry actually enjoys his community service. It keeps him occupied during the day, and working with his hands tires him out enough to welcome sleep at night. Not to mention that he can always turn his back on people, focusing on the piece of window-frame in front of him waiting to be painted. He doesn't have to notice the judging stares anymore.

It is a cold but clear December morning, just a day before Christmas, when Bill breaks the news to Henry:

'I got a wire from the magistrate. In two weeks I will take you to the detention center in Cape Fullerton, where you will be waiting for your trial. It should take place in early February.'

Henry manages to nod, but deep inside he feels like he was slapped. Up to this point his situation didn't feel real. No matter what he told himself, it didn't feel real because he was still here, in Hope Valley. He wasn't free but he was walking familiar streets, saw familiar if unfriendly faces, and was allowed to do things with his two hands. He was working. Painting his way to redemption. Now the countdown starts, and soon he will have to face the end of his days in Hope Valley. Then comes what? Prison hierarchy. Waiting. Doing nothing. Cold. Strangers. Silence.

For three days now Henry has been assigned to work in the barn, helping around the Christmas floats. He is painting a pole mechanically, red, white, red, white, red, white… He allows his thoughts to wander to other things. He is facing a long prison term, he knows that. He asked Bill. His best hope is that the attempted murder charge will be dropped.

Before he could completely sink into self-pity a commotion disturbs his quiet misery. Nobody has seen Opal for an hour and a half now, not since she left with the other girls to pick sprigs of holly to decorate the floats. Emily tells the worried adults that they split into small groups, but she can't remember which group did Opal join. She must have fallen behind or chosen the wrong path at some point.

'What if Opal is still in the forest?' Miss Thatcher asks.

'Well, it's going to be dark soon...' Lee Coulter casts an uneasy glance at the sky, letting his unfinished sentence gloomily hang in the air.

'We should start looking for her right now,' his wife suggests. It is a constructive and very sensible idea, one they can act upon.

'She could be hurt, and she could be anywhere in the forest,' Jack Thornton warns the others.

Jack was allowed to come home for Christmas. Becky Stanton arrived two days ago. Henry Gowen won't be taken to Cape Fullerton until January. Everybody is home for Christmas. Almost everybody. Only if Opal was safe and sound, too…

What if she wandered off to the old mine? This thought bugs Henry, but there is nobody around to share his worry with. All the adults have left to arrange a searching party, only Rosemary stayed behind with the children, comforting them and looking after them. Should he inform her of his idea?

Henry takes his coat and slips out of the barn in a moment when nobody pays attention. It is easier this way, he tells himself. It is unlikely that Rosemary would ever leave him alone with the children, so if he wants to help, Henry needs to take things in his hands. He will just go after Thornton and the others, and warn them about the mine. It's as easy as that. Except that he finds they had already left the town to search for Opal. But he could join them, couldn't he? The afternoon is closing upon the town, and they need every men to find the girl.

Henry takes a horse, because riding is definitely quicker than limping, and heads for the old mine. He knows Bill would have never agreed to this. He shouldn't have left the barn. If he returns without the girl, they will never believe that he didn't want to run away.

But… didn't he? Can he be completely sure that he didn't panic and this is not an attempt to avoid prison? He won't lie to himself, he does not really care about children. He is fairly sure they could find Opal without his help. Actually, this is his best (and only) chance to break away from Bill's grasp of his metaphorical leash while every men is looking for the girl.

On the other hand, he is not an idiot. He knows very well that he wouldn't get too far. And where would he go? He likes it or not, Abigail was right when she said Hope Valley was his home. If he can't stay in Hope Valley, it makes no difference if he is in prison or on the run. Abigail sees good in him but there is no trace of goodness, just pure selfishness - and fear. Henry Gowen is a coward. He fears death and he fears the life that awaits him.

He is about to turn back and give himself up to Bill when he hears a swift sharp cry from somewhere near. Someone - not a child but an adult woman - has been hurt. Henry dismounts his horse, for the trees stand very close together and it would be hard to navigate a horse among them. Henry forces his way through till he reaches a rocky slope. He spots Abigail just a few yards away to left from his point but at the base of the slope, lying on the ground, bruised but conscious.

'Abigail!' he shouts to get her attention, and she moves her head towards the sound.

'Henry?'

'Are you hurt?'

'I think I have sprained my ankle, and I am stuck here, but otherwise I am fine.'

Henry knows that without his help she won't be able to climb back on the top of the slope. He doesn't exactly know how will he help her, but that comes later. He starts to descend.

'Be careful!' Abigail warns him. 'It's dangerous. I took one wrong step and it landed me here. Maybe you should call some help. I will wait here, _that_ I can promise.'

'There is no time for that,' he argues. 'The sun is about to set, and when the night is upon us, it would be much trickier to get you out safely. And that would be an unnecessary risk to take.'

He finally reaches the spot where she is lying, and offers a hand to help her get back on her feet as gently as it is possible. That is the easy part, and soon, with trembling muscles, Abigail is standing, slightly leaning on Henry for support.

Now they just need to climb up.

'Should I ask what happened to you?'

'When Elizabeth told me that Opal was missing a thought struck me: what if she had wandered off to the old mine? I know it has been closed down for years now, but I just had to check… She wasn't there, so I turned back but kept looking for her, except that I didn't watch where I was going and ended up rolling down,' Abigail explains all in one breath, then frowns. 'But what are you doing here?'

'I was looking for Opal, too,' Henry says a bit defensively. It is not a lie, though it does not cover the whole truth. He hopes Abigail does not want to discuss the question further, it would only lead to shame (on his part) and disappointment (as for Abigail). He gestures toward the slope. 'Now, shall we?'

They try to hold onto each other, but stones are rolling under their feet, and it's hard to make a step forward and not to fall back two.

'It won't work,' Abigail pants after trying unsuccessfully for a few minutes.

'No, it won't,' Henry agrees. Luckily, he has got an idea. Surely not the very best idea but it's worth a try. 'It might sound unorthodox, but you could cling onto my back, so it would be easier for me to support your... weight,' he says a bit lamely.

'Are you offering me a piggyback ride?' Abigail asks back. And she downright giggles.

Henry can't help but smile, too. 'The offer won't be on the table for long,' he adds jokingly.

With some difficulty she clambers up on his back. Her narrow skirt doesn't really help, so she needs to hitch it up a bit, while Henry waits patiently with bended knees and eyes politely averted to the ground.

'This will be our little secret, won't it?' she asks when she is finally settled on his back.

'Of course.'

It isn't much easier to climb and carry Abigail's full weight, but it has its advantages (for example, if he stumbles and falls he can catch himself on his hands without hurting her), so Henry grits his teeth, and slowly, carefully finds his way up. Abigail hugs him tight; they might be improperly close, but unless a miraculously strong wind comes and lifts them up, this is how they are going to get back on the road.

'Damn these rocks!' Henry swears under his breath when he almost loses his balance. 'Sorry for that.'

Every time he falters he can feel Abigail's fingers digging into his shoulders. Her arms are wrapped around his neck, her thighs are pressing into his waist.

'I am almost sure I won't drop you,' Henry says, his chest heaving.

'Are you saying that I am heavy?'

'I take it back, just please don't kick me.'

'When we reach the top, I am going to laugh so hard I'll roll back down,' Abigail murmurs. It is hard to ignore the way her breath is tingling his neck.

'I would advise you against doing that,' Henry replies, but he is smiling, too.

It takes almost a miracle and certainly a lot of time but eventually they reach the top of the slope. Henry tries to gently put Abigail down instead of dropping her, although his muscles are cramping all over his body. They still have got to find his horse and ride back to the town, and the sky is getting greyer and greyer above them, yet they can't resist casting back a look and let out a little laugh about their route on the slope that seemed endless and tortuorous just a second ago.

'Can we sit down there for a moment?' Abigail points at a bigger stone three steps before them as their laughter slowly fades away. 'I just want to take a closer look at my ankle while I still can see something.'

'Go ahead.'

Henry offers his arm, and they limp like a dog on three legs to the rock.

'Darkness be over me, my rest a stone,' Abigail recites before bending down to examine her ankle.

'How bad is it?'

'Swollen and hurts a lot, but I still think it's just a sprain.'

'The two cripples,' Henry mutters.

'Lost in the forest.'

'We are not lost,' he points out, but Abigail goes on, a bit absent-mindedly and starry eyed:

'It's like some fairy-tale. I feel like some magical is about to happen, I don't know, maybe an enchanted bear appears and leads us home.'

She has had a long and hard day, she was lost and found, she is hurting, and she misses her son and daughter. She just wants to go home.

'Life generally fails to be a fairy-tale. You help yourself because nobody else will. It's a waste of time to wait for enchanted bears, and being good and unselfish is simply not practical.'

Henry feels bone-tired and bitter, because his day started behind bars and this is how it is going to end, too. Hope Valley might be his home, but a jail is a jail, no matter where he is. Anyone else could have found Abigail, sooner or later, and it would have taken less trouble and exertion to rescue her.

'Yet good keeps to prevail.' Abigail shakes her head, very slowly. 'I know that life is not a fairy-tale but I have faith and I believe that we all have a purpose in the world.'

Henry feels he should apologise, because if someone he truly knows that Abigail's life was anything but a fairy-tale. But she goes on, again, before he could act upon his thoughts:

'Even at the times I felt lost and lonely... even in my darkest hours, there was always someone who offered me a ray of hope. I learnt to see the good in our world even when it's hard to see. You can fool yourself, Henry, but maybe you should start to see things as they are. You are a good man.'

Henry almost perversely enjoys how Abigail can render him speechless with nothing but simply showing him kindness.

He feels the chilly wind, that is rustling the trees, on his skin. He is sitting on a cold stone in the middle of the forest, the sky is grey above him. He is aching all over in his body and in his soul. The only warmth near him is Abigail's presence, her shoulder pressed to his, her kindness calling and reaching out to his heart. He thinks: this is it. This is the closest he is ever going to get to her - and to himself.

'All right, we should get going if we don't want to count our blessings on this rock.' Abigail makes a move to get up, but midway through the motion she stops and gives Henry a soul-piercing look. 'And just for the record, a friend, who may not make his presence known all the time but comes when the need shall arise, is a blessing, too. You are my blessing, Henry.'

Together they rise and, after some stumbling and wandering, hanging onto each other, find Henry's horse. By that time darkness is surrounding them, but nevertheless, they know one thing for sure: they will find their way home. They are not afraid of the night, nor the cold or the awfully deep quietness surrounding them. This is heavenly peace.

Henry senses it, the inexplicable calmness of these moments, which will fade as soon as they get back to Hope Valley, where once again they become the Mayor and the Criminal. He feels he should say something to Abigail. Something that is different from _'Maybe you see what you want to see'_ or _'I wouldn't read much into it'_ or so. Something that is kind and shows how deeply he cares about her. How he craves her forgiveness - but if he starts apologising now a new day will dawn on them and find them standing on the same spot. He has wronged her in so many ways and offered so little to make amends, he can't insult her by trying to make amends with simple words.

But he wants to say something, be it simple, be it short, but should it express that she is his blessing, too.

'Abigail...'

She turns her head but can't see him in the dark properly, so she takes a step closer. Henry inhales the air. It holds the scent of winter, sleeping trees, and the promise of snow.

'I respect you. Very much.'

Henry reaches out, tentatively; his hand meets hers halfway, he takes it, and enjoys the way she gently squeezes his hand. He carried her, and by his good deeds and wrong-doings he will carry the weight of her life for ever with himself; he reached out to her, physically and spiritually; and now his heart is full of peace.

It takes some time to figure out the best arrangement for the way back home, but in the end Henry gets up in the saddle first, then lifts Abigail in front of him. All settled now.

In half an hour they will be back in Hope Valley where they will be told that Opal was found by Lee Coulter, a bit scared but unscratched. Bill will grumble at letting Henry out of sight, but he will make him a cup of hot coffee. In two weeks Henry will be transferred to the city to face his trial. He should prepare for a long prison sentence. In two weeks his community service is done. In two weeks his Hope Valley life is done for who knows how long, and he will be lonelier than ever in his life. But there is a small chance that by now he has learnt to face loneliness and judgement with courage and dignity. Abigail believes in him. Maybe Henry could ask her to write him letters about life in Hope Valley.

Abigail does not know about his upcoming trial, not yet. Those two weeks will be gone in a blink of an eye - and so will be Henry. But he is ready to face whatever life has for him. Let it be what needs to be.

 **Author's note: Writing in a foreign language is a constant struggle but this never-ending wrestling with words, sentences, and expressions (and commas!) never fails to make me see the beauty of it, too. Writing is a challenge, writing is joy. This chapter grew very close to my heart as I was working on it. Please, let me know what you think of this chapter. Or the story. Or WCTH in general. I can't tell how thankful I am for all the reviews, they mean a lot to me.**


	6. Chapter 6

'I can't believe it,' Jack says, shaking his head. 'You were called as a witness for Gowen's defense?'

'Trust me, I can't believe it either,' Bill grunts. He has joined Jack on his rounds; he knew the younger man would understand his problem. 'They say I couldn't be impartial because he saved my life. Can you believe that? Me, impartial, considering Henry Gowen? Nonsense.'

Bill has not seen Henry for a month now, and he can't say he is missing the man. A lot happened since he had transferred the ex-mayor to Cape Fullerton: Julie Thatcher visited her sister, Jack came home for good and started to plan his wedding with Elizabeth, Frank came back then went away again, and during all of this the railway is making a steady progress under the direction of Russ Wyatt. Bill is fairly sure that Henry does not care about all these people – but not completely sure. After all, Henry tried to help the community when Opal got lost. Nobody expected him to do it but he did it anyway, and he risked a lot with it.

'It doesn't make sense,' Jack agrees. 'You arrested Wyatt and Gowen.'

Bill scoffs. 'Apparently, they don't want me to feel beholden to Henry. As if they knew how I felt about him.'

However, Bill has to ask himself: how does he really feel about Henry? They are not on good terms, and he is fairly sure they won't ever become friends. Too much history between them. Nevertheless, Henry took a bullet for Bill, and truth to be told, that is very annoying. Before that Bill thought putting him in jail or digging him a grave would make no difference to him.

Now he wouldn't want to dig Henry's grave.

Maybe this is the reason he was called to testify for the defense. His job is to see the bad in people, and he sees a lot of bad in Henry, but of course, Henry's crimes will dictate his punishment, not Bill. As a character witness they will expect him to be just: he should talk about Henry's misdeeds and his good deeds, too. Equally. Bill Avery believes in justice.

So the real question is: what would be the real punishment for Henry? Serving ten years in a cell is awful enough, but what is it compared to serving the community that he failed not once but twice...? _Why, now I sound like Abigail,_ Bill thinks. He can't know for sure if Henry plans to return to Hope Valley would he have the chance, but he knows that the man has nowhere else to go. It is prison or Hope Valley now.

Bill Avery believes in facts. Henry stole from the town, it is a fact. He saved Bill's life, and that is a fact, too. Once a snake, always a snake, Bill used to think, but snakes shed their skin, right? Maybe Henry could change over time. He might never become a good man, but he could be, well, less bad. A changed man.

Bill wishes he could go back to whole-heartedly hating Henry Gowen.

'Well, I will give the court the facts, and we will see how it ends for Henry,' he shrugs. 'The truth will come out.' _Goodness, I really start to sound like Abigail._

Jack smiles because he didn't expect anything but facts and truth from Bill, and thinks he must tell Elizabeth about this turn of events.

 _Meanwhile at the café…_

'You were called as a witness for the prosecution?' Elizabeth asks back in disbelief. 'Really?'

She is helping Abigail with chopping vegetables for the stew, tonight's special. Abigail, calm, level-headed Abigail looks very disturbed now. Elizabeth is slightly worried that her friend will cut her finger off accidentally in her current state. (She does not think of the time with a small smile on her face when she was not a kitchen expert, so to speak, and almost cut herself once or twice.)

'I can hardly believe it. How could I testify against Henry? Is that even legal? Can I testify against my predecessor? Don't they fear that I am biased, that I want to keep his job?'

The poor vegetables must be suffering under Abigail's unstoppable hands but there is no mercy for them.

'It is legal, it seems. Why else would you have been called as a witness?'

'I know, I know. It just doesn't make sense.' Abigail sighs, momentarily forgetting about the vegetables. Elizabeth uses the opportunity to change the meticulously chopped carrots and potatoes with new ones under Abigail's knife.

'Maybe you should talk with Bill about it,' she suggests. 'I expect he will testify, too.'

'Probably, yes. It's just… I am not sure, Elizabeth, that I can do this to him. I don't want to…' Abigail pauses, searching for the right word, '…hurt him.'

'Gowen hurt this town. He didn't care about anyone but himself.'

'You know that's not completely true.'

Elizabeth dismisses the interjection. 'Why do you care about him?'

'I believe that there is good in Henry. He saved Bill's life. He saved me. He has learnt to help other people.' Abigail recalls a memory, one that makes her smile. 'I remember how he came to eat here when the railroad's commissary thrived, and the café was empty all day.'

Back then she did not find the situation extremely humorous but time makes everything look better.

'Abigail…'

Elizabeth shakes her head slowly but Abigail stands her ground.

'There was a time when he wouldn't have done anything like that. His act was kind, and that is some word I would have never used to describe the old Henry Gowen. The Pacific Northwest Mining Company Henry was a different man, you must remember that. He has been changing for a while. Slowly, maybe, but surely. He deserves a second chance.'

'He had a second chance. Even third and fourth chances.'

'A last chance then. Should I be the one who takes it away from him?'

'Abigail, you are a just woman. Nothing you said as a witness, I say, nothing would be untrue. Think of this when you are afraid of hurting him and ask yourself. Can truth hurt?'

Abigail contemplates her friend's words for a while.

'Yes, it can,' she says in the end. 'But you are right. Testifying isn't about blaming someone, it is about truth and justice. When the trial of the mining company finally took place… When it has come to that Noah… I believed in my Noah!' She is trying to find the right words, until she says the one thing, the most important thing she wants to say. 'I believed in him when Henry tried to frame him for the explosion. It could have ended badly, it could have hurt my Noah's memory, but the truth came out and I never stopped believing in him.' Those were hard times, but she tries to gain strength from those days. 'I believe in Henry, too. Despite all those things he has done. For all those things he has done. I believe in him and I need to believe that the truth won't hurt him. Or even if it hurts him, I hope he can take courage from it to earn the town's trust. I think he is ready for that.'

Abigail remembers the day when Henry was taken to Cape Fullerton.  
 _She was running to catch him; the café was full of customers that morning, and everyone wanted one more cup of coffee or one more scone. When she arrived in front of the jail, flushed and hopelessly trying to look composed, Bill was helping Henry down on the stairs. After all those walks the two men had taken together, they looked almost cozy._

 _'Henry! You are still here!' As soon as the words left her mouth, Abigail realised they could have been interpreted as words of reproach. 'I was afraid I had missed the chance to say good-bye,' she explained._

 _'That is very kind of you.' Henry seemed to be strangely calm and almost shy. 'I might be back sooner than you think…'_

' _I wouldn't be too sure of that,' Bill muttered._

'… _but maybe not, so I want to thank you. For, you know, for everything.' He turned to Bill with a half-smile on his face: 'As much as it pains me to say this, it goes for you, too.'_

 _Abigail could see that the gesture had surprised Bill, and she was astonished, too. Henry sounded so sincere – and so resigned. Like he was ready to face long years of prison. Abigail's real surprise lay where she realised how painful it was to see him this way. She wanted to reach out to him, to reassure him somehow, but she just couldn't figure out how._

' _Time to get going,' Bill said after some contemplative silence._

' _Take care of yourself, Henry.' It was all she could offered to Henry. That, and a soft kiss on his cheek._

' _You too.'_

Maybe the trial is her chance to reassure Henry, to help him believe in redemption, even if it means she has to testify against him. Elizabeth is right. If she can be just and use her testimony as an opportunity to give them the whole picture of Henry's character, the truth will come out.

'I will give the court my opinion, that is what I am going to do,' Abigail decides. 'I will tell them how Henry hurt this community and how he tried to make amends.'

Elizabeth smiles because the vegetables has escaped further torture. Abigail is back to her usual confident self, and Elizabeth can't wait to tell Jack this turn of events.

 **Author's note: Thank you for the support! Sorry for the short chapter, I had an excellent but very busy week. Next time: the trial!**


	7. Chapter 7

Bill visits Henry in prison before the trial.

'You might be glad to hear that they have dropped the attempted murder and bribery charges against you,' he says, putting civilities aside. He could ask Henry how is he doing but he is fairly sure he knows the answer to that. 'But you are still looking at ten years for stealing town funds.'

There. No need to sugarcoat it.

A grimace flashes across Henry's face but it is gone in a blink of an eye. 'Thank you for reminding me.'

'I am going to testify for the defense, but I guess you already know that.'

Henry nods.

'Good.' Bill fidgets in his seat. 'Abigail is going to testify for the prosecution.' He wonders why he feels so uncomfortable stating it.

'So I have been told.' Henry looks oddly calm. 'It's alright.'

'Alright or not, it is how it is going to be,' Bill snaps. Henry's unshakeable patience is annoying him. He suspects that the man is plotting something, he can't imagine Gowen would walk into prison without pulling one of his tricks. Why on Earth would he be so calm about it? His patience is suspicious - but everything about Henry Gowen is suspicious, if you ask Bill Avery.

Eventually Henry breaks the silence that had settled on them. 'Would you tell me about what happened in Hope Valley? Since… you know, since I left. Please.'

Bill is quite taken aback by the request but he can't think of a reason why shouldn't he grant it. He can't decide what does Henry want to hear, so he talks about the people who are the closest to him: 'Jack came back from the Northern territories, safe and sound. He is planning his wedding with Elizabeth. It will take place in late May or early June, so when school is over, they can leave for their honeymoon.' This reminds him of another recent event. 'But first, they will need to find a pastor to wed them since Frank has left us.'

'What happened?' Henry asks and for the first time that day he looks genuinely interested.

'Long story short: he was doing some volunteer work at the children's hospital, here, in Cape Fullerton, in exchange for board and residence, until he was offered to work with them full-time. He came back Hope Valley to say his goodbyes, then left the town.'

'How is Abigail taking it?'

'As best as she can. They parted as friends.' Bill frowns. He can't decipher why would Henry be so annoyingly calm about his own fate, yet so deeply interested in the life of Hope Valley. Bill smells a lie in the air. 'Why do you care so much about Abigail?'

'Why do you? Why does anybody do anything?'

'I can see that prison has put you in a philosophical state. You might as well get accustomed to it. This judge is known as the "hanging judge".'

'Lots of judges have that reputation.'

'Well, this one lives up to it.' Henry wanted to hear stories? Well, he can have this one: 'I heard this judge had a son who'd get in trouble. Nothing big. At sixteen, he took the neighbor's horse for a joy ride. The neighbors were upset, but they didn't want to press charges. It didn't matter to this judge. He took his kid, locked him in a room, and called the sheriff, to have him come and arrest him. The kid escaped and ran away. They haven't heard from him or seen him since.' Bill pauses before striking a final blow: 'If the judge would do that to his own son, he's not going to show you any mercy. He imposes the maximum sentence in every case.'

'Ten years.'

'I should leave.' This visit might not have been such a good idea, after all.

'Thank you for visiting me,' Henry says, and his voice sounds sincere.

'See you in court,' Bill nods, relenting a little. He is about to leave when Henry calls after him:

'Bill. Would you a pass a message to Abigail?'

'I am not sure…'

'Please. I just want her to know that I am ready.' In fact, he has been ready for a long time now. 'She will understand.'

 _Blessed is the one who endures trials,_ Abigail thinks in the courtroom.

She does not want to be here. The trial of the mining company was enough for a lifetime, yet now she finds herself in a very familiar situation. She is fighting Henry Gowen - again. However, this time everything is different because Abigail does not want to fight. She wants to help Henry, and Henry… Henry has accepted that he needs her help. He is ready, Bill told her and Abigail understood the message. Or she thinks so. She believes that Henry is ready to start again. Do better.

 _I shouldn't be here,_ she thinks bitterly.

Georgia Pardell, the prosecutor steps forward. 'As the new Mayor of Hope Valley, what would you say about your predecessor's job performance?'

Alright, it is an easy one, Abigail has already thought about it during the journey to Cape Fullerton. 'I have learned firsthand that it's not easy being a mayor of a frontier town. You have to oversee both the town council and law enforcement. People look to you for answers, and everyone has different priorities. Henry Gowen projected leadership and made tough calls, and, as a result, he brought jobs to Hope Valley and our town prospered. But he wronged his constituents when he stole from the town. He cheated the community that he was part of. However, I think he realised his mistake, and he is ready to earn the forgiveness of the community had he get the chance.'

'What makes you think that?'

 _I saw him fall to the ground, and I held his hand while he was begging for my forgiveness,_ she wants to say but it would be too… personal. Sensitive topic. When Henry was just lying there, unconscious and covered in blood, that was hard. Then he spent a good time lying at the infirmary, unconscious and pale as death, and that was almost harder. Abigail winces at the memory, but she keeps the details to herself when she answers the question:

'He took a bullet for Bill Avery without a second thought when Ray Wyatt tried to kill him. He almost died.'

'But he didn't, and the first time he had the chance, surely granted by the lenient treatment he received from you, he tried to escape.'

Abigail angrily glares at Bill because nobody else could have given Georgia Pardell this piece of information. 'Lenient treatment? As soon as he recovered from his near-death experience, Henry was working on his community service, and he was always under surveillance.'

'Yet he left the town.'

'Because he was looking for a lost little girl!' Abigail feels frustrated. She doesn't want to be tricked into saying something about Henry that isn't true. 'So were almost all the adults of Hope Valley! He joined the search even though he knew his action could be misinterpreted later - and really, now you are trying to frame him for something he didn't do. Henry Gowen stole from Hope Valley, yes, but he did not try to escape his punishment.'

'Mr Gowen basically bankrolled your cafe, didn't he?'

'I guess you could say that...' Before she could go on, there is another blow:

'Did he buy you when he reassumed his position as mayor after AJ Foster disappeared?'

'He certainly did not.' Abigail frowns. She wonders where will all these questions lead.

'Had you found traces indicating that Mr Gowen had mishandled public funds, surely he would have offered you a nice sum to keep that information to yourself, I assume.'

'He did not do such thing.' By this point Abigail is seeing red but she won't give Pardell the pleasure of showing her indignation. That woman wants to pick a fight with her? All right, Abigail Stanton can fight if that is what they wish for. 'If you think that accusing me of corruption will take you anywhere, then you are wrong.'

The judge intervenes: 'Change your line of questioning, Ms. Pardell, or sit down.'

'No further questions.'

Abigail can see that Ms. Pardell is not pleased with her testimony. Good. However, she can't relax, not yet, she still has to go through the questions of defense.

Now it is Archie Reed's (the defense attorney) turn: 'I have learned that during the incident when Henry Gowen joined the searching party, he saved you.'

Did Bill tell these lawyers _everything_? Abigail huffs a little before answering: 'Yes, I sprained my ankle and the only reason I didn't get stuck in the snow for who-knows-how-long is that Henry found me and took me back to Hope Valley.'

'You feel beholden to him, don't you?'

'We help each other. That's how a community works.'

Noah and Peter were part of that community once. So was Frank until he chose to leave. What if Henry has to leave, too? Not by choice, not by accident but by the judge's decision. Well, Abigail might be a witness for prosecution, but she won't let it happen. At least not without a fight.

She turns to the judge because he is the real one to be convinced of Henry's guilt or innocence. Everyone else is just a pawn in this game, even Henry. 'Your Honor, if you are going to judge the man, judge the whole man. The man who took a bullet for Bill Avery. The man who went searching for a little girl, risking a harsh sentence. The man who helped me when I was in pain and alone. The man who risked his life for the community that he previously wronged. I know you will decide his guilt or innocence but I would ask you to remember that it's not wrong to give someone a second chance or to believe in the power of redemption. What's the alternative, Your Honor? We may lose the person we love and never see them again.'

She means every word, although she did not intend to become so emotional. Maybe she just can't bear the thought of injustice. Henry is part of her community, and she does not want to lose him, not this way. Not because she testified against him. For Abigail, it is not a fight for or against Henry, not anymore. It is always a fight for the truth.

And for Hope Valley.


	8. Chapter 8

Henry feels cold inside and his stomach is tied in knots. How could he be so naive to think he was ready? He can't go to prison, not this way. If Abigail's honour is the price of his redemption, he does not want it. He is ready to go to hell and back, twice, but he won't drag her with him. Why couldn't they just lock him up? Abigail should have been left out of this… this tragicomedy.

Henry should have left Hope Valley when he had the chance, without looking back. He should have tried to escape… _this_. Of course, he can't imagine himself on the run. Spending the night in a forest, hungry and cold, fighting off bears… Living in the wilderness, hunting, picking berries… He wouldn't have lasted long, not with his chest wound and his bad knee. Not with Bill Avery hot on his heels. It would have been the world's worst escape attempt, probably, and in the end Henry would have been locked up once and forever, key thrown away. Easy as that.

Except that, naturally, Abigail would have taken full responsibility for his escape and it would have been as if Henry had jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. He has never thought he would live the day when he says Bill was right - but apparently, Bill was right when he said Abigail's biggest fault was her kindness.

She is still defending him, even when she is a witness for prosecution. Even when Georgia Pardell is accusing her of corruption and bribery. How adamantly Abigail is fighting for her community! And she still considers Henry part of that community. A truly amazing woman. But Henry does not deserve her kindness since the goodness she sees in him is nothing more but the reflection of her own good heart.

Maybe Henry should have died on that day. This thought has found its way back to his mind, slowly creeping into his head during the long, sleepless nights at the detention center. Everything was easier at Hope Valley where he could go wherever Bill took him, where he could be tired at the end of a day spent with working on his community service. At the detention center there is simply - nothing. He can't go anywhere, his cell is not even large enough for pacing up and down; there is no work to do, there is nothing but waiting and staring. At his hands. At the wall. On a brighter day his eyes can follow the journey of a narrow ray of sunshine on the wall, but as it is still February, the sky is mostly grey and cloudy. No sunshine for him.

He can sit. Stand. Stare. Wait. Count the seconds. The minutes. The days. Think. Remember. Pray. Lie down.

He can't sleep. He can't figure out how to make things right. He can't stop thinking. He can't breathe.

He is alive but what for. 

It seems almost like a dream now, that fateful day when Bill saw Henry fall to the ground, bleeding profoundly. What more, endless days and lots of prayers later, he saw the very man fall asleep. Bill Avery has seen many people die (or knock at death's door) but he has rarely kept vigil watching over grown-up men drifting off to sleep.

Sleeping men are more peaceful than dying men.  
'When you arrested Ray Wyatt, he tried to shoot you, correct?'

'That's correct.'

'But Henry Gowen stopped him, isn't that right?'

'Yes, he did.'

'And it almost cost him his life.'

'Yes.'

Lawyers are so predictable. Bill knew what to expect from them: the defense questioning him about Henry's bravery, the prosecution questioning him about his investigation. He also suspected that if he casted the bait with good timing, they would eagerly take it, so right before the trial he told both of them about Henry's little field trip right. They loved it - but who doesn't love a good story, even if it's true? Especially if it's true. A criminal, trying to slip away, using the searching party for a lost girl as an excuse - or actually trying to help? Then ending his day with saving the town's mayor from getting frostbite. It is a wonder a story so good did not make it to the papers.

Except that things got a bit out of hand. Bill surely did not expect Georgia Pardell to come and try to frame Abigail for selling her testimony to Henry. His job is to see the bad in people and he likes to see lawyers as vultures ready to pounce, but he did not believe Abigail would have to pay the price. Well, Abigail did an amazing job, defending herself - and defending Henry, as a matter of fact. With her little speech directed at the judge, she would have made an excellent witness for defense. Sadly, that task rests on Bill's shoulders, and he wonders when will he see the end of this very long day. He owes some apologies to Abigail - something common with Henry, after all. Alas, no matter when they see the end of the day, it won't end so badly for him as it will end for Henry, Bill is sure of that.

'What would you say about Mr Gowen's attitude towards community service?'

Bill frowns. He has not thought about it before but now, as he is quickly trying to recall his memories upon the topic, he can't pinpoint anything evil or harmful done or said by Henry during that time in Hope Valley. 'He was surprisingly… humble.'

Henry is certainly out of shape as Bill has expected at least an incredulous snort from him. Maybe a look of surprise or disbelief, but no, Henry's eyes are stubbornly fixed on his hands. Somehow he looks... smaller than during Bill's visit at the jail. See, Henry is no fool, even he knows what to expect from this trial.

'Peaceful, I'd dare to say.' Careful there, Bill warns himself, because he is way past giving facts, he is giving an opinion here. 'He worked hard on his community service.'

Bill shrugs. Actually, he has found Henry the criminal behind bars less problematic and annoying than Henry the mayor and free man, and that is something.

Georgia Pardell asks him about AJ Foster. Where did he found her, what did she tell him etc. Once again Bill reminds himself of his decision about sticking to the facts.

'I found AJ Foster in Bishop Falls.' The encounter and their journey to Hope Valley was memorable, so to speak, but he won't bother the court with such insignificant details. 'She told me that when she was auditing the bank's books, she found a paper trail that showed that Henry Gowen was funneling town funds into his own personal bank account, and that Ray Wyatt had threatened her and bribed her to create a new set of phony books.'  
'Are these the real set of books that she provided you?' Georgia shows him the books - the real ones, holding the evidence of Henry's guilt.

Bill nods. 'Yes, that's them.'

'No further questions.'

The time of judgement has come. 

'The defendant will rise.'

Henry stands up, feeling a lump in his throat. He is ready, he reminds himself, he is ready for anything that comes. He does not have great expectations, this is not a day for miracles.

'I find you, Henry Gowen guilty of the misappropriation of public funds.' Henry knows he is guilty, everyone knows he is, so no news there. 'I'm sentencing you to ten years, which is the maximum allowed by statute.' He knew it, he knew his chances, he expected this sentence, but it is still a hard blow to take. 'However, as is my prerogative, I'm crediting you with time served and granting you immediate parole. Now, should you violate the terms of this parole, you will be brought back to serve the remainder of your sentence. You have one last chance, Mr. Gowen. Don't make a fool of me.'

Henry can't believe his ears.

It always returns to the same point: his lack of belief. He didn't believe he would ever see the sun again, not as a free man. But then again he was corrected in his incredulity, a gentle reminder that his steps are watched over, even when he comes to himself within a dark wood where the straight way is lost. If he doesn't shield his eyes from His guiding light, he will always find the way home.  
'I will not, Your Honor.' His lips are moving, he is saying these words, he is making a promise that he must keep. A promise to the judge and to Abigail, of course. To Bill, even. To Hope Valley? Let's not go so far.  
'We're done here.' The judge bangs his gavel. It is over.

It was a day of miracles after all, and now it is over. Henry looks across the courtroom, locking eyes with Abigail for a brief moment. She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. Henry is not ready to smile, not yet. He is experiencing a strange sense of relief, at the same time acknowledging the hard task that lies ahead of him. Maybe he will never be redeemed but at least he has got another chance to try and, after making the worst possible decisions, show the best of him.

He is going home.

After weeks of suffocation, for the first time Henry feels he is ready to take a deep breath.


	9. Chapter 9

Henry arrives to Hope Valley on a cold, but sunny Wednesday afternoon. He did not anticipate a warm welcome anyway, yet he can't help but huff a bit over how even the weather seems discontent with his return. Now is the winter of the town's discontent made suspicious spring by the sun of Henry's return. Fine. He does not really care about anyone's opinion apart from Abigail's, so he can tolerate all the cold shoulders and gloomy glances he gets. He has more pressing matters at hand than getting anxious about the people of Hope Valley.

He needs a job. He needs a place to live - a room will do for now, one where he can sleep, preferably without nightmares. He needs to eat, too, he can't live solely on air. He needs money, but he is not the mayor anymore, nor a company manager, so he needs to find a new job. A small frontier town might not be exploding with possibilities but Hope Valley is prospering, as Abigail said at the trial, and Henry expects that he won't have to be without work for too long. Even though there is no hope for a desk job (who would trust a convicted felon?), and he is not fit for hard work just yet, he has learnt that help and opportunities come from the most unexpected places. Or people, as a matter of fact.

Soon enough it is proven to him once again that he might have degraded in the opinion of the people of Hope Valley, he might be the lowest of the low in their eyes, but they have a good heart hidden under all that anger and mistrust.

Since he has no chance for a decent job with a good salary, Henry can't afford to go back to his old place. He settles for a room at the saloon as he does not have to pay for it before the end of the month. Hopefully, he will have found a job by that time, or else he might need to bend his knee, crawl under the threshold of the jail, and beg Bill to let him sleep in his old cell.

No, that is never going to happen. He will sell everything he has left, including his clothes, if he can't find no other way to get some money, but he will never ask Bill for help. Not on this ground, not under this sky.

'I might not be able to pay for my accommodation before the end of the month,' Henry tells Jeremy Black, the owner of the saloon, as the key to his room is handed to him, 'but I will pay.'

Black looks at him with knitted brows, his gaze is pensive. _He must be contemplating if he should trust my words or not,_ Henry thinks, and the thought could almost hurt him should he care. But he does not care.

'I have a proposition, Henry Gowen,' Jeremy Black says, finally. 'You work for me. I can't pay you much, but I give you a room and you can eat here. This town is growing bigger with every day, and people will always want to eat and drink, yet it is still only me and Ellie running this place. Well, we have got Sam, too, but I could do with an extra pair of hands in the kitchen.'

Not the job Henry has dreamed of, but beggars can't be choosers.

'I can't cook,' he warns Black because it would be most unlucky if a clumsy scullion was sent to help his wife. He would probably drive Mrs Black up the wall with the lack of his cooking skills in no time.

'I trust you can chop vegetables, and wash and rinse glasses.'

'Sure.'

Sounds like pure joy. Henry will love to sulk in the saloon's kitchen, cleaning other people's mess.

But of course, after his arrestment there was quite a mess to clean up, so working at the saloon might just be another slice of humble pie, as Bill put it once. He has to swallow it, along with Jeremy's pity.

'This is no charity,' Black says as if he was reading Henry's mind. 'I need help, you need to work. It's a win-win situation.' He extends his hand.

Henry takes it. 'Yes, it is.'

'You start tomorrow.'

With that handshake Henry's life becomes simple. Easy even, in a way. He lives in the saloon. He works at the saloon. He spends all his time at the saloon. Mostly, he mostly in the kitchen, helping Mrs Black (Helen, she insists as Henry can't bring himself to call her Ellie like everyone else does), but sometimes he is instructed to go to the mercantile and pick up supplies. There is another guy working at the saloon, a much younger one, called Samuel. He has no friends who would call him Sam. He is a newcomer, he has recently moved to the town, when his brother got a job at the railway. He does not talk much but Henry does not particularly want to chat with anyone, so it sits well with him.

Although he wishes he had the will to go and talk with Abigail, he can't bring himself to it. The memory of the trial is still fresh on his mind; just thinking of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He does not want to form words out of this bitterness. He is a practical man, he can't be bothered by the matters of the soul, so to speak. He won't discuss feelings or doubts or mistakes with anyone.

Now Henry's life is like his room: simple and small. Does not have much in it. Nobody ever visits. Even if they did, he would not let anybody in. It is not a friendly environment but it is only fair since he has no friends. There are no decorations, no ornaments, just the plain, simple truth. No need for a facade when there is nothing to hide. Maybe if he had a single secret left, people would care and pry and try - but he does not care about people.

The prodigal son is back in town and he is sulking in his room.

Was he gifted with a second chance for this?

Hardly.

So one morning, after a row of sleepless nights and monotone days in the kitchen, Henry walks up to the infirmary and knocks.

'Good morning, Henry.'

Faith smiles at him, her own warm, full-of-heart smile, and Carson's greeting nod could almost be called amiable. The two of them look so normal, so peaceful. Ready for a day full of purposeful and challenging tasks.

'How can we help you?'

'Actually, I would like to help you.'

It all sounded better when he first thought of it but he can't go back now, only forward.

'I mean that I am volunteering to… to help out.'

What else should he say to them? They are making sheep's eyes at him like he had suddenly grown two heads. Henry would have never thought that _help_ needed an explanation.

'I can place orders and pick them up. I can paint and repair things; I had time to practice while working on my community service.' It seems like he did that ages ago, in another life. A pre-trial life. 'Helen Black taught me how to clean a kitchen, so I guess I could keep this place clean, too. Helen is a strict woman, you could treat a wound any day in her kitchen.'

Now he is babbling, talking nonsense, and silently scolding himself for coming here at all. They do not need his help. Henry has got nothing to offer but himself and who would need him…?

Faith is the first to break the silence. 'We would like that, wouldn't we, Carson?'

'Yes. Sure. Thank you for the offer.'

They are smiling, both of them. Henry did not ask for that but still, his chest feels a little less tight and he can breathe a bit easier. There is a chance that an hour later he will already regret his decision but he can't help that, it is too late. Alea iacta est. He has reached out and his offer has been accepted, everything else is just a matter of details. Simple as that.

Henry is not an optimist nor an idealist, but the more he thinks about the less he doubts that perhaps he will learn to like his room at the saloon. He might not have friends, but maybe, just maybe, he has allies, and, as far as he cares, that is not a bad start.

 **Author's note: I can't remember if the saloon's owner had ever been mentioned in the series, so I decided it was time for Jeremy Black to step into this story. Sorry it took so long, but I hope you are still with me.**


	10. Chapter 10

Henry is walking down the street, enjoying the soft morning breeze, when he spots a familiar figure stepping of the stagecoach. At first he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him but alas, no. It is neither the bright morning light nor he needs to ask Doctor Shepherd for glasses because the man gathering his luggage is really Reverend Anderson in the flesh.

Henry can't help but cross the road to exchange a few words with him because… Because right now he is more curious than a herd of gossiping old women. Because Helen Black is not a particularly chatty person and Samuel is the exact opposite of talkative. Because if he does not meet Faith or Abigail or Carson, Henry can spend a whole day without uttering a single word.

He is hungry for words. He suspects that the source of this feeling lies with his career change. Back then, before his downfall, he used to spend his days with negotiating contracts and striking deals. He made business with words. Now his colleagues rarely talk and the glasses in his care do not speak at all. He does not need no jolly company to entertain him, he just wants to gain a better understanding of people in general - without getting involved too much, preferably. Maybe if he understood the ones surrounding him, he could understand himself, too. A lifetime ago he flattered himself with believing that he had understood how the world works but now he is not sure in anything, not anymore. He used to eat life, now he wishes to taste it. Take the world apart, bite by bite. Henry needs to know why he feels both significant and insignificant at the same time. How can He let so fragile and yet tough creatures walk these grounds? Going in circles, as it seems.

'Reverend Anderson,' he addresses the man who is completely absorbed by the strange new look of the town.

'Mister Gowen.' The reverend has not forgotten him, Henry can see that by the way Anderson knits his brows when looking at him.

'I assume you are here to take up the position of town pastor once again. Or are you just visiting?' He did not plan to sound so interrogative but it is good to know that he has not lost his touch.

'Yes, I am to be the shepherd of this flock… once again.'

It is a truth universally acknowledged that, since misery loves company, a man hoping for redemption feels an almost wicked joy upon finding someone with a very similar intention. Reverend Anderson might not be a criminal but he let these people down, too. Henry senses that this is the reason behind the pastor's unexpected appearance but he needs to hear it so he presses:

'Why did you come back?'

The need to understand is eating at him. Why would anyone return to the community he once failed after so many years? Henry does not count. He practically never left his home. But does Reverend Anderson think of Hope Valley as his home, too? Hardly. Many years passed since he last came near to this town. When he left, this place was called Coal Valley, the mine was still open, and there was no church, no school, just the dusty saloon. It is not the same town, is it? Definitely not.

'Sweet, old songs are the best.' In contrast with his half-smile, the reverend sounds melancholy. His answer might be cryptic but there is something in his eye, a strange light that seems strangely familiar to Henry.

It might not be the exact same town but the people are the same, he realises. Non muri sed mentes, right? That must be it. The reverend failed his people, so he left but he couldn't stay away, evidently. He is back because he needs redemption, too, and when someone hopes for a second chance so badly, time does not matter. Forgiveness and a place called home are what both of them are looking for, and when you are seeking something, you never stop looking just because a year ended and another has come.

-:-:-:-

'And that is how you fix a sprained finger. There. Now you try it.'

Now and then, when they have the time, Faith teaches Henry basic medical skills. He does not want to look overconfident but he thinks he is getting better and better at treating sprained limbs. If he ever found himself in a similar situation with Abigail, for example, like that undignified rescue attempt during his community service, he could be of more help.

Except that as he could not step twice into the same river, he could never find himself in a similar situation. Not that he wishes for Abigail to get hurt again, never that, but he remembers the peace of that evening in the forest with a strange fondness in his heart and longs to experience that tranquility again. Since his return to Hope Valley he has been feeling mostly comfortable in his skin - as comfortable as he can get with his disgrace weighing him down, but still, he has been doing alright. He just can't forget the faint but sweet taste of happiness he had savoured that night. He does not want to forget it. Maybe, if he earns it, one day he will get another taste.

'How is the Cantrell boy?' he asks because he knows Faith likes to talk about the Cantrells. Her face lights up when someone mentions them and her voice has a special sweet, gentle tone whenever she speaks about Shane or Philip.

'He is very excited about Elizabeth's wedding,' she answers and there it is. That tone, that smile, that fond look. 'At first he was a bit anxious about it; he was worried Miss Thatcher would leave them after the wedding for good.'

'The children are very fond of their teacher.'

'Well, no surprise there, Elizabeth is an amazing teacher.'

Henry nods. Everyone in Hope Valley praises Miss Thatcher's teaching skills, even though at first they did not believe that the spoilt big city princess would be capable of carrying out the hard task she was facing. They do not believe in Henry either but one day he will change their minds about him. He just needs to be patient - like Faith. When she is teaching him how to apply a bandage. When she listens to some old woman complaining about a headache like she was on her deathbed. When some old man was rude to her because he was hurting and she gently soothed him while easing his pain. Faith is a good teacher, too. She is teaching patience by practising it.

'The whole class has taken to the wedding shouldn't be less than perfect. Philip is really proud that he is going to be the ring bearer,' Faith goes on, and Henry wonders if she is thinking about her own wedding, too, when Elizabeth's comes up in a conversation. Her courtship with Shane Cantrell is official but there has not been an engagement, not yet. Faith was once betrothed to some pompous big city guy, Henry knows that much, and Mr Shantrell is a widow with a little boy, so who knows what the future will bring for them…? Both of them must be a little afraid; they might not feel ready to commit to each other. Very logical, Henry thinks, nobody wants to risk getting hurt again.

He also thinks that Faith is one of the kindest, most patient person he has ever met, and that when he finally made up his mind, Shane Cantrell will be very lucky to have her.

Later that day Henry is sweeping the front porch of the infirmary when another immensely kind and patient person approaches him.

'Abigail.' His greeting might not sound warm but his face softens and his posture relaxes every time he sees her. 'Is something wrong? You are not sick, are you?'

'Oh, no, I am fine, everything is fine. I just thought I would come and ask you how are you…' she trails off, uncertain. Henry wishes he could read between the lines because something is amiss, no matter what she says… but he can't so he has to play along.

'Alright, I am alright.' Although he feels a bit foolish standing there with a broom in his hand. Should he go back to sweeping? 'I am, uh, I am almost done here.'

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Abigail immediately starts to retreat.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to hold you up.'

'No, no, I will just return this to its place and then…' But he never finishes his sentence because what could he say? _And then you could walk me to work?_ He really, really wishes Abigail would just simply tell him what is eating away at her. 'So, Miss Thatcher must be very excited about her upcoming wedding,' he tries to change the topic. Very smoothly.

'Yes, she is. Of course. There is still so much to be done and school isn't over yet, so Elizabeth has a lot on her plate right now. At least a new pastor arrived just this morning, so she doesn't have to worry about that anymore.'

'Yeah, I met the good reverend.'

Suddenly everything falls into place. Abigail is not worried about anything in particular, she is just distressed because Anderson's arrival reminds her of Frank's absence. Now that the reverend is here, it seems so final that Pastor Hogan won't ever return. It is sad but Henry can't really help her, he is no man to offer words of wisdom.

But of course, he can try, just this once.

'I think he has come a long way, and not just because we live in the middle of nowhere.' His remark earns a small smile from Abigail, which is something. 'It must have been a hard decision to make but this is the path he has chosen. The path he was meant to chose.'

Henry thinks of Reverend Anderson - and he thinks of Pastor Hogan, too. Abigail understands his meaning, he can see that in her eyes. Good because it is the best he could come up with.

Before the situation could turn awkward, Jack Thornton shows up. He does not look sick either, which makes Henry wonder what does the good sheriff want from them. His best guess is that Jack wants to discuss town business with Abigail. That or it is something about the wedding.

'What brings you here, Jack?' Abigail asks, looking all friendly and much less worried than barely a minute ago. It makes Henry feel content, knowing that in some way he helped her in casting away her clouds.

'Actually, I wanted to talk to Henry… if you are amenable.'

'Sure.'

Abigail smiles and bids them good-bye: 'Well then, I should be going. Good day to you two.'

Henry looks after her with a sore tightness in his chest. It feels like a cheap change; he'd rather listen to Abigail than to Thornton. He can't imagine the man has anything nice to say to him. Truly, Henry _loves_ to have uncomfortable conversations with the town's sheriff on a porch with a broom in his hand. A day without having one is considered wasted.

But patience is a virtue, so he stops whining internally and braces himself for whatever Thornton has to say.

'I would like to invite you to my wedding.'

Henry is baffled. He certainly did not expect Jack Thornton to invite him to his special day out of… pity? No, that does not make any sense. You invite somebody for a drink out of pity, maybe, but you surely do not invite somebody you have never liked to your special day.

'Bill told me everything that happened while I was… away.' A shadow crosses Jack's face; it is gone in a blink of an eye but for the first time it makes Henry think that the good sheriff might be bearing his own burdens, too. 'I know that if it weren't for you, he might not have been able to make it to be my best man on my wedding. You saved his life and I am immensely grateful for that.'

There it is. Gratitude. The honest and open expression on Jack's face makes Henry's heart swell with shame. He should have done more for this town than getting accidentally shot. He should have done better.

Jack goes on, his voice steady and firm: 'I understand we have never gotten on well…' Understatement of the year, Henry thinks. '...but I would like to change that.' And with that he offers his hand.

Henry takes it. Shakes it. A firm and steady grip. Another promise made.

He can do this. He can keep his increasing promises and he can do better.

 **Author's note: So, what do you think?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: Thank you, everyone, for your support! I hope you will like this chapter. Finally, the wedding bells are ringing for Elizabeth and Jack. Enjoy the fluff!**

The wedding is, in the children's opinion, perfect.

Even Henry has to admit that it is very nice. He is secretly proud that he is allowed to be here, among the friends and family members of the bride and the groom. Julie Thatcher is the maid of honour and she is practically bursting with joy; it seems that she just can't stop smiling. And Tom Thornton, who is so busy with work nowadays that it was not sure if he could make it to the wedding, not until the very last moment, well, the young man just can't take his eyes off Julie. Everybody in the church can see that, especially his mother - no small detail can escape Charlotte Thornton's attention but she looks pleased with everything she sees. So does Rosemary Coulter, smiling so widely as it was her own wedding. By the look she exchanges with her husband, Henry is fairly sure that both of them are recalling the memory of their special day. He does not know what is crossing Bill's mind but he suspects it has more to do with his relationship with Jack, rather than with his disastrous marriage with Nora.

Strange. Henry does not feel anything when he thinks of Nora, not anymore. Or he might feel a dull pang of regret, the shadow of what-could-have-been, but nothing more. He wishes he could say he is sad about this discovery but there is nothing inside him, absolutely nothing.

His glance shifts from Avery to Abigail. She looks happy, but her happiness, unlike the younger Miss Thatcher's, is calm and contained. She is glowing with it, like a thin thread of raw gold glows embedded in a stone. She outshines all the other guests.

Abigail catches him staring at her and flashes him a smile. _I am glad you are here_ , it says. Now that makes Henry feel surprisingly warm in his chest. Maybe it is just a reminder from his wound that a hard rain is coming… but at least it is something. The corners of his mouth turn upward in the barest hint of a smile, quite involuntarily. He might not be completely empty.

The church is full, the last guests are ushered to their seats, and everybody is waiting for the bride. Who looks breathtakingly beautiful - and absolutely confident in her decision to marry Jack Thornton. She does not even look nervous. Usually she lacks the mature calmness that comes so naturally to Abigail, for example, but today Elizabeth seems to be perfectly composed. Graceful, elegant, yet joyous and light-hearted. Maybe finding your better half helps you to find your balance, too. Can love make you a better person? Or is it not about being better but being the very best version of yourself?

Henry does not want to think about his own very best version; that would bring some pretty grim thoughts for such a beautiful day as today.

'We're gathered here today to witness the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony…' Reverend Anderson is a bit stiff but he is conducting the ceremony smoothly.  
Jack says his vows first, sincere as always, but his voice is full of emotion:

'Elizabeth, I choose you and no other. Your happiness is the only question I want to spend my life answering. Your heart is the only flame I will endeavor to keep alight. Before you said yes to marrying me, I was already yours in every way. So I marry you today without hesitation or doubt. I'm committed to you absolutely. I love you with everything that I am. Forever.'  
By the time he finishes speaking, most of the women are sniffling and searching for their handkerchiefs. It is a wonder how Elizabeth does not start crying but somehow she manages to compose herself and say her vows, too:

'Jack, I never expected to find love when I came to Coal Valley. But, somewhere along the way, without even realizing it was happening, you became the most important person in my life. You're my shoulder to cry on, my favorite to dream with, and my greatest surprise. I'd offer you my heart, but the truth is, you've had it for quite some time now. So, instead I'm going to give you my soul. I love you, Jack Thornton. From chalk dust to eternity. I'm yours.'  
The guests watch with watery smiles as, at Reverend Anderson's signal, Philip gives them the rings.

'I give you this ring as a symbol of my love.'

'With all that I am, and all that I have, I honor you.'

'With this ring…'

'...I thee wed.'

'It is my great pleasure to now pronounce you husband and wife. Jack Thornton, you may kiss your bride.'

The kiss is passionate but that does not make it less sweet. Quite on the contrary.

Later, at the reception, Henry gets acquainted with Mr. Thatcher. He has mostly stayed in the background, listening to the wedding toasts, raising his glass to the newlyweds and watching but not participating in the dance. However, he needs to make this acquaintance for a personal reason: he must tell something important to the proud father. Something he owes to Elizabeth but he might never gather the courage to go and tell her. So he chooses the father to finish off this task that he has set himself.

Henry starts with stating the obvious: 'You must be very proud of your daughter.'

Mr. Thatcher bows his head agreeing. Good. He does not seem to be a chatty person which will make Henry's little soliloquy a bit more awkward than it already is but at least he won't have to stay and do small talk after he is done with it.

'Your daughter did, and still does, an amazing job here.' William Thatcher does not know Henry, thus he has no idea how difficult it is for him to admit his misjudgement and praise Elizabeth's beneficial influence on Hope Valley. 'I have been living in Hope Valley for a long time now. I was already here when she arrived to the town, and I must confess that I wasn't sure that she was fit for the challenge she was about to face. Back then, for certain reasons, the community was full of hurt and mistrust. She has had a huge part in changing that.'

Henry tactfully does not mention the Thomas Higgins fiasco - initiated by Ray Wyatt, sure, but Henry played a huge part in carrying out Wyatt's plan to ruin Elizabeth's career. They ruthlessly pulled the rug out from under her, never mind the consequences.

'She teaches the children to read, to write, yes, but she gives them so much more than letters and numbers. She teaches them how to think. How to be brave and stand up to injustice. She teaches them the importance of trust. That they should trust each other and themselves. That they should dream big.' Alright, that is enough. Henry might have gotten a bit carried away. 'Your daughter has a very good heart, and the whole town is grateful to her.'

Mr Thatcher looks a bit surprised and… touched? He must think that Henry is an enthusiastic father, praising his kid's teacher. Let him believe whatever he wants.

Henry decides to go out for a short walk, he needs some fresh air. He is glad to leave the crowded room. The night is soft and warm, and for a few minutes he simply enjoys the soothing air.

Then Abigail comes into sight, walking towards the saloon, disturbing his peace. Her appearance is so unexpected Henry secretly pinches his arm to make sure he is not dreaming.

'Abigail?' he tentatively calls out, as if he was afraid that she would vanish like an apparition, like a ghost that had never been there. 'Is something wrong? Are you alright?'

'Yes, everything is perfect. I just wanted to make sure Cody and Robert went home. And stayed home.' Abigail smiles as if she was silently adding: _teenagers_.

She is real. Her steady voice and sweet smile are real. She is no ghost.

'And you, Henry? Are you alright? You look like you have seen a ghost.'

 _No, I am just being stupid,_ he should say but he only shrugs.

'I'm fine,' he says. 'Came out to get some fresh air. That's all.'

This conversation reminds him of a previous one, when he was standing in front of the infirmary with a broom in his hand. Now he is standing in front of the saloon and he has no broom, which is certainly a development.

'Actually, I am glad that I've found you here,' Abigail says, hesitantly but still smiling. 'I've been wanting to tell you something for weeks now.'

Henry blinks in surprise. 'That… that sounds deadly serious.'

'Well, I am deadly serious when I say that I am happy that you volunteered to help in the infirmary.'

Her words make Henry feel downright uncomfortable. 'No need to make a big deal about it.'

'Oh, it's a very big deal.'

He wishes he could just leave it there but he can't do that as he owes her an explanation.

'It's very simple. They saved my life. The only reason I didn't bleed to death is that Doctor Shepherd and Nurse Carter saved my life. Because they were doing their job.' He takes a deep breath and tries to explain it more precisely, catching Abigail's slightly confused look: 'If they had been doing their job as I had performed my duties as mayor, I would have died. Being a mayor is no less responsibility than being a doctor, and I failed miserably.'

'Henry, you didn't…'

'Oh, yes, Abigail, I did. I failed. I let the people of this town down. I let you down.' Henry pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down. He feels he got a bit carried away with his emotions. Maybe it is just that kind of night but still, he has no right to be upset. 'Sorry. I don't want to burden you with this.'

'It's fine. I think it would be easier a bit if you talked more about… things like this.'

'I don't want it to be easier,' he shakes his head, and it is true. He does want to feel something. Anything. He wants to peer inside himself and find... something. Nothing good comes from doing easy work, he has learnt that by now. If he wants to find redemption, he needs to enter through the strait gate.

He turns his head towards the saloon, listening to the music for a while. Thinking. Some would say brooding.

'Everyone cares so much. Everybody loves so easily. Everybody puts their hearts into… into everything,' he says finally, eyes fixed on the windows pouring warm light into the night. He does not dare to look at Abigail when he asks: 'What if I just love less than other people?'

'Do you really think that love is measurable?'

What could he say to this? Nothing. Abigail does not expect him to say anything. She expects him to think.

He can do that.

The night is young. There is a graceful cacophony of noises coming from the saloon: music, laughter, chatting, cutlery clinking… People are celebrating the union of two souls, and those are the noises of joy. Pure and selfless joy.

Henry should either keep on brooding or, just for the sake of variety, he could try to do something bold.

'Shall we…?' He offers his hand but Abigail just stares at him, stunned. Maybe a bit too bold? 'I have never been a great dancer, not even before… Well, my knee is… I would probably make the most awful dancing partner in the world, but I thought… I thought we could give it a try.' He knows he is babbling but he can't help it. 'I trust you wouldn't laugh at me. Not too loud, at least.'

Do something bold? More like do something stupid.

If he was not so occupied with feeling utterly miserable, Henry would notice how quickly the confusion in Abigail's eyes is replaced by delight. She needs to put a hand on his arm to get his attention, to coax him into looking into her face when she says, a gentle smile filling her features and her voice full of kindness:

'It would be my pleasure.'

And they dance. Slowly and a bit clumsily. It reminds Henry of that December afternoon, and his heart flutters. He must have done something right because he is still here, still alive, breathing and dancing in the moonlight. The night is young and, for the first time in a long while, his heart feels young and light, too. The air is soft and warm - almost as soft and warm as Abigail's hand in his.

It might not last longer than a song but for the time being Henry feels perfectly balanced.


	12. Chapter 12

Summer has passed with a strange tension hanging in the air.

The people of Hope Valley read baleful news about Europe. Although all those sinister events happened so far from Canada, they could not be simply shrugged off. Suddenly everyone grew interested in international politics. Walking down the street you would have most likely heard a snatch of a conversation on some European business:

'Have you heard? The heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne was assassinated in some Balkan State.'

'What a horrible affair!'

But life has never stopped.

And the news have never stopped coming. Some change is brewing in the world. If the wind of change starts to blow, it will grow into something huge – huge enough that it won't leave Hope Valley untouched.

Small changes are already here. Henry has helped out in the infirmary during the whole summer and Faith kept on training him. They moved on from fixing sprained limbs to treating cuts. So far Henry has managed to deal with every task Faith gave him, but he is a bit unsure about what would he do with an actual bleeding wound. He does not really enjoy the sight of blood. Not since that one day when he lost so many of it.

But of course, it is highly unlikely that he will ever need to use his (practically non-existent) medical skills. The town has a well-trained professional doctor and nurse, after all. Yet he can't help feeling a tiny bit proud when Faith praises him for a perfectly applied bandage.

This summer has been generous with Henry. He was promoted to bartender. Sort of. He still spends most of his time in the kitchen but sometimes, when the saloon is crowded, he helps out in the bar. It is not only that the railway workers do not care about who pours their spirits but nowadays Henry feels less like a pariah. It has started with the Thornton wedding. He is despised by the majority of the town, yes, but he is not ostracized. They just do not seem to care anymore. It is kind of an improvement, really. Henry does not want them to love him. Forgiveness would do just wonderfully. But until he earns that, he can cope with the cold shoulders and indifferent looks.

Change is not only in the wind, it is everywhere: in their bones, blood, and mind. Change is inevitable. It is a part of life, and there is no use to complain about something so deeply embedded in the world. Change never makes things better or worse, just different.

Henry thinks he can handle different.

The kids have grown a lot during this summer. Cody will soon be taller than his sister. No surprise there, the boy is turning fourteen in November. He is eager to join Mrs Thornton's preparatory class when school starts again. The purpose of the class is to study for the entrance examinations for King's Academy, the closest teachers' college to Hope Valley. After getting a provincial teacher's license, they can decide whether they try to enroll in college and obtain a university degree. In a minute these kids will be all grown-ups. Abigail already sighs every time when she thinks of Cody attending college.

Abigail. Something changed between them on the night of the Thornton wedding. At least on Henry's part, he can feel that. He becomes inexplicably shy whenever he is around her. Not awkward but shy.

That night she took his hand in hers. Not because he was afraid of dying but because he offered and she accepted. That night he held her. Not on his back because she got hurt but in his arms. That night Henry danced with Abigail Stanton and that was something he had never dreamt to have.

He was free to dance, he _dared_ to dance and it was... nice. To hold her in his arms felt like home. Safe. It made Henry feel like he could conquer death. It was incredible while it lasted but it changed things. For better or for worse, Henry does not know yet.

 _Just different,_ he reminds himself. Sometimes the changes we dread are the changes we need, he thinks but he does not say it out loud. He is not entirely sure that he is right. However, he is sure he won't dance again. At least, not for a while, just to be on the safe side.

It is August now but the air still feels heavy around them. Summer will be gone in a blink of an eye (only a month now) - taking this suffocating heat away, hopefully.

One evening he is working in the saloon's kitchen when Jake, Sam's brother pops in to share the news:

'Germany has declared war on France!'

Henry stops in his tracks but only for a split of a second. Then he picks up the next dirty glass and starts washing it. No glass will clean itself just because the Kaiser decided to bother the French.

'This means that England will fight too, probably,' Jake goes on, 'and if she does… well, we'll have to turn in and help her, won't we? We couldn't let her fight alone, no. We need to go there and show those damned Germans how it's done.'

Henry stubbornly keeps his attention on the glasses in front of him while Sam glances a bit doubtfully at his brother. Jake does not seem to be bothered by the lack of response as long as they listen to him.

'It would be fun, eh? I hope the politicians won't mess it up for us. It would be shame to leave France in the soup.'

If Helen was in the kitchen, she would make a remark about Jake's choice of words. Soup! As if men had any idea about soup. Or something like that.

Helen likes Sam, Henry has already figured that, but he thinks Jake would probably annoy her. Or maybe not. They could have friendly banters; the older Bailey guy looks like someone who can never hold his tongue. That could lead to some funny situations – as if Henry had any idea about fun.

After Jake leaves them, the two men work in pensive silence for a while. Henry's thoughts are soon diverted from the French to the guy rinsing glasses next to him. He wonders how different the Bailey brothers look. Jake is tall and well-built, and in the fullness of health - compared to him Sam seems downright sick. He is almost as tall as his brother but he is gaunt and pale, and he has a dreamy look in his big, brown eyes. Still, he is strong, Henry knows that. Sam might appear fragile but under the surface he is surprisingly tough.

'How come that you are not working at the railway?' Henry asks, letting himself to be curious for a change.

'Coincidence, I guess,' Sam shrugs. 'When Jake got the job, I was working for a newspaper delivery company in Hamilton… you see, we were real big city guys…' He flashes a shy smile. 'Anyway, Jake suggested that I should come with him. He was sure he could get me a place at the railway, too, once we were here. We arrived, came to the saloon, where Mr Black asked Jake if he wanted to work for him. But since he already had a job… Well, I got it in the end. It's not that I was keen on working at the railway, I just wanted to stay with Jake.'

'Wouldn't you have preferred to stay in Hamilton?' Henry remembers how disappointed he felt when he had to come to the dusty little town that Coal Valley used to be.

'Not really. Even though I liked it there, I haven't got anyone else but Jake. We swore we would stick together.'

Henry thinks of James. His brother could be anywhere in the world. Anywhere. Will they ever meet again? Unlikely.

'But it's nice living here, really. I has learnt to like Hope Valley, I think.'

'Glad to hear that, kid.'

Mr Black appears in the door. 'Henry, Sam, I need an extra pair of hands at the bar. Germany declared war on France, and it seems everyone wants to discuss the news here. Good for us.'

'I will go,' Sam volunteers, and Henry stays behind to think about big brothers and small towns.

Next time it is Henry's turn at the bar. His gaze sweeps around the saloon and he notices how cheerful everyone looks tonight. Suddenly he feels far away from them. Great. Just what he needed. He does not even know the railway workers. Then why do they make him uncomfortable?

Henry sighs and curses internally. This summer has been alright so far, apart from the strange tension hanging above them. Still, he only had nightmares when the weather was really hot and that is something. But now he feels tired and anxious. Summer weather is not getting the best of him. He longs for quieter, cooler evenings, when the saloon is not so full of people.

Ned Yost steps in but he instantly halts on the threshold, looking around grimly and a bit confused. He just stands there for a while until all the heads in the saloon turn towards him, He looks like he has something important to tell, yet he does not say anything.

Finally an impatient voice barks: 'What?'

'England declared war on Germany today,' says Ned slowly. 'The news just came in.'

Everyone freezes.

Now Henry feels close to them. It does not last longer than a moment but there it is.

 _Hold your horses,_ he tells himself. _The world isn't ending tonight._

Then everyone starts talking at the same time. Some of the people cheers. Some of them sighs. Eyes are sparkling with excitement. Stomachs are knotted with worry.

Jeremy Black whistles.

'This will change a few things, I suppose,' he says. Henry nods, slowly. 'I'll go and tell Ellie. And Sam.'

This makes Henry think back to the previous night. Jake will be happy. England did not leave France in the soup.

Someone walks up to the bar, asking for a glass of whiskey. This snaps Henry back to reality. England and France with their problems are far away from him. They are inching closer with every assassinated archduke, every declaration of war, true, but that is no reason for Henry to just stand there daydreaming. He thinks of Abigail's hand in his. No matter what happens, he won't lose his grip. The memory of that night will be his anchor to reality.

Blow, wind, blow. The world is not ending tonight but the wind of change has arrived to shake up life in Hope Valley. Henry Gowen is ready to take the blow.

 **Author's note: Alright, everyone, I have something very important to tell you.**

 **This story is going on hiatus until late September. I wouldn't be able to update regularly during summer and I don't want to make you wait weeks for a new chapter. (I already have my struggles with updating.) Also, I need to work on my summer project and that will take up a lot of my creativity. I have drafts for** _ **Should I Fall**_ **, I know all the key plot points, and I know exactly where this story is going… I just need some time to refill my energy sources, find fresh inspiration – and maybe get a beta because I need one like yesterday.**

 **I hope you will be patient, and I wish you all a beautiful summer. Your support means a lot to me and I am very grateful for all the kind reviews you have sent me. See you again when September nears its end!**


	13. Chapter 13

Life seems to slow down in Hope Valley as the first men leave for Cape Fullerton to enlist. It has the biggest impact on the railroad; steel-drivers put down their hammers so their hands are free for weapons now. They change out of their work clothes into khakis and make promises to end the war in three days once they set foot in Europe. Of course, Jake Bailey is among the first volunteers, with his brother hot on his heels.

"You don't have to go, you know," Henry tells Sam on the very night he announces his decision to the saloon workers. "If you don't feel ready, you don't have to go right away."

"I can't let Jake down. I don't have anybody else but him. If he goes to fight, then I go with him and the battlefield will become our home."

"Hope Valley could be a home for both of you."

But Sam only shakes his head. He obviously fears the war yet he's determined to go, and Henry respects his decision.

"I expect you back in one piece." They shake hands on this.

Nowadays the kitchen looks much emptier without Sam, and Henry often finds himself wondering what is the kid doing in big old Europe. Has he been in a battle already? Has he faced bullets? Henry touches the scar on his chest, remembering the sharp bite of the shot. Some nights, when he can't sleep, he prays for Sam so that he'd never have to experience that pain and that feeling of utter helplessness.

-:-:-:-

Word comes from Red Cross headquarters that sheets and bandages would be required, and it shakes the people of Hope Valley up. At once every home is snowed over with drifts of white cotton as everybody starts to hem sheets, so Henry volunteers to collect the supplies—as a bachelor, he's familiar with sewing but only at a basic level. He carries everything to the infirmary then helps Faith with the sorting and packing.

One day he opens the door with gloomy news: "The British army was driven back; I heard it from Katie Yost just now."

Two pairs of eyes greet him: Faith and Abigail turn their heads towards him. Maybe they've already heard the news as they look unusually troubled.

"I'm sorry if I'm— I can come back later if that's more convenient," Henry stutters, his eyes frantically looking for a spot where he can place today's package.

Abigail shakes her head. "No, it's not— I'm sorry, Henry, I don't want to drive you away. You weren't disturbing anything, I just looked in to give this box of bandage to Faith."

"I could have collected that from you," he points out, feeling a bit hurt.

"I know but it's a short walk and I needed some fresh air—" Abigail sighs. "Well, you'll know about it soon enough so maybe I should tell you now."

"Know about what?"

"Someone sent Jesse an envelope containing a white feather."

At first Henry doesn't understand it. Then, he feels rage.

"Who did it?"

"We don't know." Abigail's lips tremble. "Clara came to me in tears to tell me about it. Jesse's self-esteem was deeply shaken by the affair, and she's afraid that soon he'll go and enlist. Clara is the only thing to keep him here; he knows she couldn't bear to lose him after she'd already lost Peter but— I understand that Jesse doesn't want to look like a coward, I do, but as selfish and antipatriotic it might sound, I don't want him to go. If he dies, it'll break Clara's heart."

"Has he decided to go?"

"Not yet."

"Then don't despair, Abigail," Faith tells her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure that Jesse will choose the path meant for him and if it leads him to the war, Clara will need you."

"We all need you." The words slip out of Henry's mouth before he could stop himself. "I mean, Hope Valley needs its mayor more than ever. It will be a long time now before the war is ended."

More men will leave the town before the war is over but how many will return? Henry remembers the months after they'd lost forty-seven men in that mining accident and still had to go on. His memories of those times are painfully clear about how the mothers kept the community together—not the company, not the mayor but the mothers. He knows these women won't fail in courage, no matter how hard the wind of change is blowing in the world.

"Thank you for your support," Abigail smiles. "I'm sorry I lost my head but that white feather—"

"It's a nasty business—" Henry shakes his head "—but I'm sure that our nosy Bill Avery'd love to play detective and find out who sent it."

It's a pitiful attempt at a joke, he knows it, but he can't do better—and truth to be told, he can't resist a joke at Bill's expense, even if it's a bad one.

"Surely he would but I don't want to give it unnecessary attention." Abigail picks up her basket, ready to leave. "I should go back."

"Henry could escort you," Faith suggests and Henry blinks in surprise. The café and the office are equally close to the infirmary, so why would Abigail need an escort? "And Henry, on your way back, could you visit Dottie and ask her if the drops worked? She and Bradley had a bad cough but we didn't have the usual drops, just those new ones, and I wanted to check on them— I'm sorry to put it on you, I'll visit them later, of course."

"I'm here to help," Henry nods gallantly, even though he's more comfortable with the "sweeping the floor" type of help. He doubts that anybody would like him to enquire after them but if Faith asks him to do so, he'll do it.

Abigail's in a pensive state and Henry can't find the words around her so they spend the short walk in silence. They stop at the stagecoach station.

"So." Henry clears his throat. He wants to tell Abigail that he knows she might find the weight of the community on her shoulder heavier in these strange, new times, but she should never feel alone. "If you need help— You know where to find me, if you need something."

What a gentleman,really, he curses himself, you should have kept your mouth shut if all you can talk is nonsense . But before he could say anything else, a stagecoach arrives with great rattling, its wheels sending dust everywhere. A man, dressed in black and holding a bag, climbs off the vehicle.

"I can't wait to see the railroad finished," Henry groans. "I'd prefer progress march on with this town, not without it."

Abigail laughs. "Now, this is the Henry Gowen I know."

"Henry Gowen?" the stranger asks, stepping closer to them.

"That's me, yes."

"Samuel Mason." They shake hands. "Could we talk somewhere private, please?"

When Henry hesitates with his answer, reluctant to invite this complete stranger to his room at the saloon, Abigail offers to find them a corner at the café.

"Thank you, madam, but I think we need a more private place than that. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

"Bad news?" Henry frowns, various explanations popping up in his mind. Has it got something to do with his parole? Or should he know Mr. Mason from somewhere? Does he own him money? Did he wrong him in some way? He can't remember, he can't.

Mr. Mason takes a deep breath. "Mr. Gowen, I'm sorry to inform you that your brother, James Gowen died five months ago."

 **Author's note: I know, I know, I know—and I'm sorry. I planned to return to this story in September, I just didn't know that life'd held other plans for me. But I'm back! Any helpful comments are welcome, especially since I still don't have a beta. #stillnotanativespeaker**


	14. Chapter 14

Henry's sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall—it almost feels like he's back in prison.

Well, he is not. If anything, he's freer than he's ever been, as Henry Gowen is a rich man now.

 _He was sitting on the edge of the bed when Mr. Mason, occupying the only chair in the room, opened his bag and took out some documents. In the end, Henry had invited him to his room, even though that crossing through the saloon many curious gazes followed them. Fine, let them stare and speculate._

" _About ten years ago your brother visited me in my office in Toronto," started Mason. "He wanted to make a will and turned to me for advice, then left the document in my care. I hadn't heard about him until last July when I was notified of his death—"_

" _How did he die?" Henry interrupted him._

" _Your brother contracted malaria when his ship docked at Port-au-Prince." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Gowen."_

 _But Henry shook off his sympathy with a wave of his hand._

" _So, about the will." Mr. Mason searched among his papers. "It's a clear case as you're the only beneficiary. Your brother didn't own a land or other property but he had some savings."_

 _Henry was about to thank him for making such a long and tiresome journey to talk about a surely insignificant amount of money, when Mr. Mason told him the exact sum. It was much more than he had ever earned, even as a mine owner or as mayor. He didn't just inherit some money; suddenly he became a rich man._

Henry is shaken from his thoughts by a gentle knock on the door. He doesn't want to open the door but his best guess says his visitor is—

"Henry? It's me, Abigail."

Getting up from his bed, Henry secretly wishes it'd be someone else at the door, so he could whole-heartedly ignore them. But of course, it has to be Abigail—after all, nobody else would ever think of visiting him—and he can't be rude to her.

He makes an effort to wipe the sour expression off his face, and opens the door.

"How can I help you, Abigail?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask if I can help you somehow."

"Thank you, but I'm fine."

This is the moment when they should close the door and leave each other alone.

"All right. Here, I brought some scones." She presents him her basket. "I'm sorry for your loss." Henry nods, acknowledging her sympathy. "You might not feel ready for it, but I think you should talk to someone. If not now, then later."

"I appreciate your concern but you shouldn't see too much into— into this situation."

The last thing he needs is to talk with someone about his emotions—or more precisely, about the lack of his emotions.

"Grief is a harsh thing—"

"I'm not grieving, Abigail," he cuts her off. "If James hadn't left me his money, I'd have never known about his death. There was no close bond between me and my brother, and I clearly don't deserve your pity."

It's true. The early death of their mother broke their father and he seeked oblivion in drinking, abandoning his children when James was only thirteen and Henry barely reached ten. They were alone against the world, so drew their conclusions: you couldn't trust anyone, not even your family, because everyone would leave you in the end. Unlike the Bailey boys, their childhood experiences didn't strengthen their relationship but pushed the brothers apart.

Henry sighed. "Look, Abigail, I don't want to argue with you. If you really want to help— Well, I'd prefer if you didn't tell anyone about my brother's death."

"Then I won't."

-:-:-:-

A whole week has passed since Mr. Mason's arrival—they spent it with arranging the necessary formalities, so the lawyer could leave Hope Valley next Wednesday. Everything is settled yet Henry still can't seem to find his place. His room feels too small, the kitchen is too quiet, the saloon is too empty, and it's all so frustrating he can't bear it anymore. Henry asks Black if he could be spared for the afternoon and as there is nobody around waiting to be served, he's dismissed with a nod.

Henry lets his feet take him anywhere they want to go and, most surprisingly, ends up at the church. Suddenly he realises that he hasn't even prayed for his brother's soul—he can't even tell why not. Maybe it's time to try at least; hopefully his thoughts will fly up with his words.

However, he's still outside the church, eyeing the steps, when Reverend Anderson opens the door—then, spotting Henry, practically freezes to the threshold.

"Good day, Mr. Gowen."

"Good day to you, too."

The good reverend is looking at him like Henry was a criminal, and he's not far from the truth.

"Can I have a word with you?"

The reverend hesitates with his answer. "I was on my way to— Well, I have an appointment."

"I could accompany you on your way," Henry offers. "Please."

"All right." They start walking at a slow pace. "So, how can I help you?"

Henry doesn't need help, he just needs less enemies. It's hard to be good when so many people hate you, right?

"It's not help what I seek but— but—" He can't say _redemption_ , especially since he senses that the good reverend wouldn't believe him. Once they were allies in wronging the people of this town, so it's highly doubtful they could ever be friends in making amends. "See, I've recently got, er, bad news about my brother and I find myself… disturbed. Which is surprising, since we never had a good relationship, and that just seems to be the story of my life. I find it difficult to connect to people." The reverend merely raises an eyebrow. "I'm not complaining because I never thought it'd be easy; I just imagined I'd take it easier. The majority of the town looks at me like I'm a bad man, and yes, maybe I am, maybe I'm not capable of changing, but— But somehow I'm not so fine with it anymore."

" _Be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind,_ " recites the reverend. "From time to time we all need to renew our minds. If you want people change their minds about you— Well, you have to change your mind, too."

"Easier said than done," Henry grunts. If misery loves company, they're truly a match. Not that he expected consolation from the good reverend—actually, he got exactly what he had asked for: an attentive but not sympathetic ear.

"If that's all—"

They stop in front of a house—the reverend's destination—and Henry realises that it's the Montgomerys' home.

"How is Cat Montgomery?" he asks, and the reverend probably senses his genuine concern because he gives a real answer.

"She's suffering from great pain but her illness can't weaken her soul."

"Has she and her family got enough help?"

"It was easier when the Bailey boys were their neighbours, but they manage."

"Sam and Jake were their neighbours?"

"Yes, but they quit the place entirely when they left, and the house has been empty ever since."

As a new idea starts to formulate in his mind, Henry thinks that Abigail might have been right after all—talking to someone can put everything in a different light.

 **Author's note: When Calls The Heart is back for season 6, yay! I enjoyed the first episode very much. How did you like it?**


	15. Chapter 15

Henry puts down his bag and sinks into a chair, letting himself relax for a moment. He looks around in his new home—because it's his home for now. He tries to shake this thought off his head but the word _home_ tastes too good on his tongue. When he decided to rent the house, Henry warned himself not to think of it as his own place; yet he's barely spent two minutes here and he's already calling it his home. It's not an accurate name, he tells himself. After all, he only occupies this place until the Bailey brothers return. He will keep the house shipshape, maybe lend a helping hand to his new neighbours, but that's all. Even though he has enough chairs to have guests, Henry won't invite anybody to his ho— house. This new arrangement won't change anything; he still doesn't need more than a room with a bed.

Although it feels nice to have more than one window.

Henry looks at his bag, then gets up with a small sigh. He needs to unpack, yes, but first he needs to pay a visit.

Half an hour later he stands in front of the Montgomerys' house, washed and in changed clothes—and nervous from head to toe. Maybe he should have come sooner? Henry tries to tell himself that he didn't want to come before he felt ready.

Anyhow, he is here now, so takes a deep breath and knocks.

"Good morning." The door is opened by the youngest kid, Miles. The boy blinks up at Henry with suspicion in his eyes.

"Good morning. Can I see your mother?"

Miles turns around and shouts: "Mum, Mr. Gowen is here to see you!"

"Well, let him in, sweetheart."

Miles shrugs and steps out of the way.

As he walks in, Henry can't help but notice that the place looks less tidier than it used to be. It isn't dirty or neglected but it gives the impression of a house without a firm governing hand. Henry thinks that he knows why—even though she isn't able to do any housework anymore, Cat Montgomery doesn't want to put it all on her children. Gabe had to give up his studies when she fell ill and now she won't let Emily or Miles go to school without homework just because the floor needs to be swept.

"Good morning."

Cat Montgomery is lying on the sofa, propped up on pillows, and Henry is shocked by how thin she is. The bright colours of her blanket bring out her paleness, and her hands look awfully small on top of it.

"Good morning, Henry." Her warm smile shows that the reverend was right; there is a strong soul hidden in the weak body. "Please, take a seat and tell me how can I help you."

Why does everybody think he wants help? Why does everybody think he wants anything from them? Maybe because he used to be the man who always wanted something? Preferably power and/or money, not help.

"I just—" He starts but the warmth in her smile confuses him. She should be frowning, shouldn't she? Henry sighs and starts again: "Look, I don't want to play the friendly neighbour—"

"Then why are you here?" Miles cuts in and he's doing all the frowning for both of his mother and himself.

"Miles!" his mother chides him. "I don't remember teaching you to be impolite to our visitors."

"I'm sorry," the boy mumbles.

"It's okay," Henry nods. Apart from not causing trouble, he knows that he hasn't done anything _for_ the town, and it takes more than just being there to earn some respect. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

"He wanted to stay until Doctor Shepherd arrives."

"I could stay. Since I came to offer my services, it's the least I can do."

"Your services?"

"Helen Black said I was excellent at chopping wood," Henry jokes and he feels awfully grateful when Cat reacts with a smile.

She motions Miles closer with her hand, then hugs him and places a kiss on top of his head. "Go to school, sweetheart."

"I want to stay," he whispers into her ear.

"I'll be fine and you need to study. I love you, Miles," she whispers back and now Henry feels like an intruder. "I love you, okay?"

The boy nods. "I love you, mum."

Another kiss. "Now go; I'll see you after school."

Miles grabs his books and heads for the door before rushing back for one last hug.

"Bye, mum!" He calls back from the door: "Bye, Mr. Gowen!"

"Good bye, Miles!"

Henry turns back to Cat. "Sorry, I didn't want to intrude."

"Actually, you're not intruding, rather doing me a favour—but why?"

Henry sighs. "I don't mean to sound rude but can't we just talk about how do you feel?"

"I'm adequate, thank you for asking. But can we talk about something else? It's the only thing people ask from me."

They share a smile at this.

"So, you don't like to be interrogated about why did you come back to Hope Valley, I don't like people being concerned about my health… What shall we do about it?"

"When I had to enjoy the comforts of the infirmary," Henry grimaces, "I liked to hear about everyday town life. I could tell you about that, if you'd like, then maybe you could tell me how is Gabe doing in Cape Fullerton." He tries to appear more self-assured than he feels but fears that he's gone overboard with his bold offer. Actually, Cat should order him out of her house for this obtrusion. "Or maybe I should just shut my mouth and chop some wood."

"You're obsessed with that wood, aren't you?"

Henry can't believe his eyes—Cat is still smiling at him.

"Please, don't gape like a fish. I'm too ill for not forgiving those who want to be forgiven." Her smile disappears and her face turns all serious. "I'm not saying I've already forgiven you but I promise that I will."

She extends a hand, and Henry takes it, oh-so-carefully, hiding her thin, shaky fingers in his palm.

"And I promise that I won't let you down."

The moment is broken by a knock, and the door is opened by Carson.

"Henry! I didn't expect to see you here."

"I like to keep busy." He rises from his seat. "But I'm afraid I've wearied your patient."

"I'm glad you came over, Henry." Her words sound sincere and Henry lets himself believe them.

"See you later," a pause before barely a heartbeat later he adds, "Cat."

-:-:-:-

If it's true what they say about your first dream at your new home coming true, then Henry shouldn't put his hopes too high. He feels so tired after his first night he's practically dragging himself to the saloon. Tough luck that a big supply of alcoholic beverages is arriving this morning—his body doesn't seem to be ready for the task of carrying and unloading heavy packages.

In his dream (or more like, nightmare) Henry tried and failed to find his way out of an unforgiving dust storm. He heard the echo of distant voices so he kept turning around, but no matter where he reached or how far he went, he didn't meet anybody. He couldn't hold onto anything because he only grabbed dust that quickly spilled from his hand. It was everywhere. Dust threatened to swallow him completely; it filled his lungs and Henry woke up gasping for air.

Walking up to the saloon, he spots Bill from the corner of his eye, and increases his pace—he's not in the mood to face him. However, today is surely not Henry's day as Bill catches up with him before he could slip into the building.

"Morning, Henry."

His cheerful tone sounds false.

"Bill." Henry nods, hoping that the good sheriff is merely bored and will leave him alone if he doesn't act too friendly.

"Are you feeling comfortable in your house?"

They're definitely, _definitely_ not on good enough terms for such a question, so Henry frowns.

"Why do you care?"

"You know me, I care a lot about the welfare of the residents of Hope Valley." Bill shrugs.

"I know you, yes, that's why I'm not buying this lie you're trying to feed me."

"Now that you mention lying— I was wondering where would you get the money to afford a house...?"

"It's none of your business."

"It _is_ my business if you're paying for it with illegally gained money."

No matter how Bill provokes him, Henry won't tell him about James; his private life isn't town business. So he only grunts: "You should watch what you're saying."

"I'm only saying you shouldn't get too comfortable. Who knows what shall I find out about you."

"I know." Henry doesn't care if Bill doesn't believe him and he isn't surprised at all. "You won't find anything but if it makes you happy, go ahead and pry as much as you want. You have a snooping, sniffy nose, Bill."

"You think you're awfully clever, eh?"

"I don't think anything," Henry gives a little shrug, "apart from that I'm going to be late so if you don't mind—" He gestures to the door and Bill steps aside.

"Enjoy your new home." Of course the good sheriff wants to have the last word.

It's not my home, Henry could say but he doesn't feel the spirit to argue further. He doesn't want to convince or defeat Bill—he only wants to survive today.

And maybe tomorrow.

 **Author's note: Hey, everybody! Hope you're doing fine, dearies! March is going to be rougher than expected—I have some close deadlines and work is getting really busy—but I'll try to keep posting regularly. Until the next chapter arrives, please, check out "Put Loneliness on the Shelf", my modern day AU Henrigail story.**


	16. Chapter 16

On Monday Bill enters the saloon. Strategically, he chose an early hour, when Henry's still in the infirmary, so he can have a few words with Jeremy Black—just the two of them. Bill walks up to the bar and nods to the saloon owner. Black nods back.

"The usual, Bill?"

"Yes, and something more. I need some… information." Bill leans on his elbows. "By any chance, did you notice money missing from the saloon?" Smooth opening, man.

"No."

"No money is missing or no, you didn't notice?"

"I'd have noticed if someone had broken open my safe, wouldn't I?"

"Yeah, but what if the thief didn't need to break open the safe?" Bill prods further. "What if they could put their hand on the money before it was taken into the safe? Theoretically speaking."

"What are you sug— Oh." Black frowns. "It's about Henry, isn't it?"

Bill shrugs. "I don't want to point fingers but don't you find it interesting, to say the least, that he lived in a single room for months but suddenly he has enough money to afford a whole house?"

"I'd rather not discuss the private matter of my employees in the middle of the saloon."

"You have only one employee—"

"—and he's not stealing from me." Black didn't want to shout and certainly didn't want to draw attention to their conversation, no, it wasn't his intention at all, but now those few guests they have today are all looking at them. "I take you're merely askin' me," he goes on in a lower voice, "and not investigatin' a case just yet, aren't you?"

"No, no, I'm just asking around," Bill admits.

"Then you got my answers. Next time you want information about my employees," he presses the ess at the end of _employees_ , "it's better be a real investigation or don't come at all. No pointin' fingers here, alright?"

"Or what?"

"It's not a threat, it's a reminder." Black takes Bill's empty glass. "You might have forgotten that threatenin' isn't the only way to communicate."

As Bill walks out of the saloon, he can feel the guests' eyes boring into his back. Fine. He might have lost this round but as soon as he finds evidence, Black's opinion will change about his _employee_.

-:-:-:-

That evening, when Henry takes his place behind the bar, he immediately senses a strange tension in the air. The war changed the atmosphere of the town, yes, and it constantly makes its presence known, but this is different. Henry can't put his finger on the source of it—until he finds out that he himself is the subject and the origin of this unusual tension. It would be hard not to notice the way the guests keep glancing at him and whispering, only to stop mid-sentence whenever he looks at them. Great. What's their problem _now_?

He finds it out soon enough.

"Oi! You!" A husky, dark-haired man walks up to him. "Watcha doin' here?"

Henry reminds himself not to lose patience. "I'm working," he says as nonchalantly as possible.

"So what if I ask you to gimme a beer?"

"Then I'll ask: what type of beer?"

"Molson ale." The man bangs his fist on the bar. "We don't need Yankee beer here!"

Henry doesn't comment on that. Good thing they have Molson ale; he really doesn't wish to have an argument about the patriotism of alcoholic beverages.

"Here."

The fist-banger takes the beer. "So what if I cannae pay for it?"

"Then there is no beer for you today."

"Yo' wannae my money that bad, eh?"

Henry grits his teeth.

"I heard yo' liked money. A little bird told me so."

"I wonder what's the name of that bird," Henry mutters. Out loud he only says, "It's a saloon. If you want a drink, you need to pay for it."

"Yeah, so yo' can steal it."

Henry draws himself up. _Don't lose your patience,_ he warns himself. "No money, no ale."

"So? Whatcha gonna do if I give yo' no money?"

This man is going to cause him a serious headache.

"Hope Valley has a mountie and a sheriff. Surely one of them would be glad to put you in a cell until your head cools down a bit."

"Yo' know so much about prison cells, huh?" He slams a couple of notes on the bar. "Here."

Henry takes the money, biting back a remark. This surely isn't his best day but he's seen worse so he can swallow a grumpy railroad worker's insults, can't he?

-:-:-:-

Not his best day? More like not his best week, as it turns out. The people of Hope Valley are eyeing Henry as a criminal—again or they have never stopped doing so, he can't decide. He tells himself he doesn't care. Not many of the people makes comments like the railroad man did but suspicious looks and malignant whispers follow him wherever he goes. Henry pretends that he doesn't notice anything and congratulates himself on finally growing back his thick skin.

On Friday, he snaps.

He's spent the morning helping Faith with sorting and counting bottles of different medicines: he read the labels, she scribbled down the medicine's type and the quantity. When they're finished, Faith checks the results and leans back in her chair.

"We're short of iodine—again."

"Well, it's the best stuff for disinfecting wounds," Henry recalls what she taught him about the use of iodine, and Faith rewards him with a smile. Suddenly he feels proud of himself—it's a nice change after the events of the week. "I could place an order at the mercantile."

"Sure, thank you."

Faith walks to the drawer containing the infirmary's money, unlocks it, takes out a couple of notes and turns back to Henry. She seems to hesitate—she moves to hand him the money but stops mid-motion.

"You know what?" Faith smiles but Henry notices that her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "I'll go to the mercantile."

Henry narrows his eyes. "Why?"

"I'm always bossing you around—"

"Because I'm a volunteer!" he interrupts and Faith flinches. "It's not you bossing me around, it's me trying to be useful. But you know that quite well, so I'm asking you again: why?" No response. "It's the money, isn't it? You don't want to trust me with it. I know that everyone thinks I'm a thief."

"I don't think you're a thief!" she protests.

"It doesn't matter." Henry shrugs. "You're free to believe whatever you want."

"Please, Henry, let me explain—" Faith starts but he stops her with a gesture of his hand.

"I don't care. As I said, it doesn't matter." He takes his coat and mockingly bows a little. "If there isn't anything else—"

"Henry," Faith says and her voice is firm as if she was talking to a petulant patient. "I need you to listen to me."

Any other day she could stop him. Any other day she could make him listen. Any other day this fierce woman could make Henry turn back.

But not today.

"I'm not having this conversation now." As he puts his hand on the handle, Henry reminds himself not to feel guilty. "Just for the record, you were the last person I'd expected to judge me."

-:-:-:-

Henry Gowen is a grown man, not a pouty schoolboy, thus he would never sulk. If he makes the impression of a sulking person just because he decided to sit down behind the saloon—well, that's another story. He only wanted a little peace, nothing more, before he stands behind the bar, waiting for orders and malicious glares. This week Black tried to give him as many tasks in the kitchen as possible but even with a war raging in Europe people want to drink so Henry found himself behind the bar much too often for his liking. But it's fine, he tells himself, he can do his job, even if he needs a five-minute break right now.

"Good evening, Henry."

Well, at least he had one minute of peace, that's something, right?

"Hello, Jack. Are you here to arrest me?" Henry means to spite him but his tone is more weary and resigned than belligerent. "Because my break is up soon and I'd prefer to be handcuffed here, rather than in the middle of the saloon."

"I'm not going to arrest you. I came as a friend. May I sit?" Jack motions towards the log Henry is sitting on. Not the most comfortable seat but better than the cold ground.

Henry shrugs. "Do as you please. It's a free country."

"Nowadays the people of Belgium can't say the same." Jack sits down. "It's a blessing to live in a free country."

Henry picks up a pebble, weighing it in his hand, playing with it absentmindedly. He didn't mean it to come out like that; in his self-pity he forgot that he isn't the only person in the world carrying a burden. Selfishness has always been his biggest problem. So far Henry has lived his life worried about his own welfare and whenever he tries to change, to do the "be better and care about others" thing, he just can't get it right. He repeats the same mistakes over and over again—hurting people and making enemies instead of making friends.

"It isn't easy to do the right thing," Jack says as if he was reading Henry's mind. "I like to think that I'm on the path I was meant to take but— But sometimes I wonder if this is really what I was meant to do. Maybe I should do more. I should do better! Because one can always do better."

Henry drops the pebble and nudges it with the toe of his shoe. He doesn't know what to say.

"Every day I'm measured and judged. People look at me and wonder how many people died by my hand when I fought in the Northern Territories. I'm judged for the number they come up with in their minds. I'm judged by the people who expect me to go to Europe and fight the good fight, and the people who expect me to stay and protect their peace here. No matter how I decide, I'll be judged for the things I do—and for the things I didn't do."

"It doesn't matter as long as— Well, as long as you know, or at least, _feel_ that you did the right thing." Henry hangs his head. He feels like he hasn't been doing the right thing for a while.

"Yes." Jack nods. "Duty, conscience, and the Lord lead me, not other people's opinions, and I'll be judged out of those things which were written in the books." He places a tentative hand on Henry's shoulder. "Thank you for listening to me."

"It's— it's alright," Henry stutters. "I didn't think you had problems. Okay, I didn't mean it like that, I just meant—" He runs a hand through his hair. "I guess I was so absorbed in my own _misery_ I forgot about everything else."

"Are you worried about Bill and a possible investigation?"

Henry sets his jaw. "No. Yes. Maybe. I don't care, not really."

"You shouldn't say that." Jack frowns. "Henry, you're on parole! The last thing you need right now is an unnecessary investigation."

"I know but I'm tired of the people— of Bill wanting to see me in jail."

"Why don't you try talking to him? He represents the law, not his personal opinion."

"I'm talking to you. You're a constable, representing the law."

"I told you I came as a friend, not as a constable."

Henry sighs, frustrated. "Then I'm telling you as your _friend_ that I didn't spend dirty money on the house. I didn't steal it, I inherited it."

"All right," Jack says calmly. "Why didn't you tell it to Bill?"

"He wouldn't have believed me."

"Innocent until proven guilty, remember? Nobody has reported missing money and Bill wouldn't have had a single reason not to believe you—apart from his own prejudice but he's a man of the law, he knows how to overcome his, er, _grudges_. Even if he needs some time to do so." He smiles. "And you didn't make things easy for him either."

Henry should be behind the bar by now, he knows that, so he quickly scrambles to his feet.

"If Bill comes prying again, surely I'll have a few words for him," he says, "but that's all. I won't be begging him to believe me."

"You two have much more in common than you think."

Henry rolls his eyes and says, "Yeah, both of us would think that you've just insulted us by saying this," but Jack only laughs at his words.

-:-:-:-

"Henry, you're on parole! The last thing you need right now is an unnecessary investigation."

Abigail stops in her tracks when she hears Jack's words. Jeremy told him she would find Henry behind the saloon but she didn't expected him to have company. She wonders what Jack is doing here—did he come on his own or did Bill send him? So far none of them has spotted her and she's about to call out to them when Henry's words reach her.

"I know but I'm tired of the people— of Bill wanting to see me in jail."

It hits her how weary his voice is. He isn't exaggerating, no, he downright sounds enervated—and hopeless.

Abigail doesn't want to eavesdrop so she quickly retraces her steps. She has heard enough and there is only one thing for her to do so she wastes no time, hurrying to the jailhouse. Bill is inside, reading a newspaper, but he rises from his chair when he sees Abigail entering. She's in front of him in a second and—not bothering with greetings and formalities—practically attacks him.

"We need to talk about Henry."

 **Author's note: When they put the show on retooling hiatus, the source of my inspiration suddenly disappeared and I found it hard to go on with this story. But now (thanks to the works of Lucy Maud Montgomery) I'm back in business!**


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning Henry gets up early—he can't snooze in bed while he owes an apology, can he? So when Faith steps out of her home, he's already standing in front of the door, waiting for her.

"Good morning."

"Good morning, Henry."

She's already smiling at him, and it's not fair, he doesn't deserve her kindness. Henry wants to sink in shame and never resurface.

"I think I owe you an apology," he starts but Faith stops him with a gentle touch on his elbow.

"I owe you an apology, too." Henry opens his mouth to protest but she doesn't let him. "Will you hear me out this time?"

"Yes, uhh, yes, I'm sorry," he stammers.

"Good. I need one of Abigail's amazing scones for breakfast. Shall we go?" They start walking towards the café. Faith takes a deep breath of the fresh, chilly morning air, then says, "I believe there was a miscommunication between us yesterday. I changed my mind about sending you to the mercantile because I remembered how you were treated all week. It was unjust and cruel, so I decided to spare you from any more malicious glances. I don't think that you're a thief and I understand why you volunteered to help us—I just didn't want to send you out to the wolves, figuratively speaking."

Henry can't help but smirk at her choice of words. Florence Blakeley as a wolf? More like a hissing cat.

"You see, my intentions were good, but I made my decision without asking you about your thoughts concerning the matter and I'm sorry for that."

"It's alright. My reaction was— Well, I wouldn't be surprised if you never wanted to see me after my atrocious behaviour." His face is burning hot. "I apologise. I shouldn't have taken out my frustration on you; I acted like a petulant child."

"Apology accepted. Let's not brood over our mistakes but learn from them."

Henry has learnt that people smile differently. If someone asked him, he would say Faith's smile is like the sun—it radiates warmth and holds the promise of spring. They reach the café where Abigail is sweeping the porch. She greets them with a smile and her smile is like honey—sweet and holds the secret of the sun.

"Good morning. It's nice to see smiling people at such an early hour."

It takes a while for Henry to decipher Abigail's words—they're the two smiling people, Faith and him. He was so lost in her smile he didn't even notice the corners of his own mouth turning up. Well, it's good to know his facial muscles still remember how to smile.

Henry's so absorbed in being surprised he trips and almost falls over. Faith and Abigail don't laugh at him, but he still feels like an idiot. For the second time this morning, he wants to be swallowed by the earth and never resurface.

"My legs are still asleep, I'm afraid," Henry says sheepishly. "I need a coffee before I make a spectacle of myself."

"And I need some scones."

"Let's see what we can do about it."

Faith takes the scones with herself but Henry decides to drink his coffee in the peaceful café. The place is empty, the morning rush hasn't reached it yet, and he allows himself to enjoy the moment. The coffee smells sweet but tastes bitter—just the way he likes it. Abigail is humming in the kitchen, preparing for the day, and Henry tries to stay as silent as possible to hear her better. His senses are lulled by the perfection of the moment—that's the only explanation why Bill can catch him unguarded.

"I'm glad to see you have a good morning, Henry."

"It was good until you appeared," he grumbles.

"I'm not here to spoil it."

"Hard to believe that." Henry sighs. "Are you going to sit down or do I have to crane my neck all the while we're having this unpleasant conversation?"

"Thanks." Bill takes a seat, then just sits there in contemplative silence.

Henry gets tired of Bill's mysterious silence. "So? Do you need my coffee? It's so strong it'd surely spur your mind into action, trust me."

"Yeah, right, let's not beat around the bush." Bill straightens in his seat.

"Thank goodness for—"

"I'm sorry."

Henry fidgets with his cup. If he wants to be honest with himself, it feels half as good as he hoped it would. A small part of him is satisfied with hearing the great Sheriff Avery apologise, but the major part just wishes the last week had never happened. He wishes Bill had no reason to bother him with apologies. But of course, when was the last time his wishes got granted?

"Apology accepted."

"We won't ever become friends—"

"No, we won't."

"—and I don't understand you but I kind of understand why didn't you want to tell me about your brother. I mean, it's a very personal topic and I might have not asked the right questions—"

"Wait a minute," Henry frowns, "I never mentioned James to Jack."

"Jack? No, I don't know about that, but Abigail told me—"

"Abigail?"

A huge, dark cloud shadows Henry's so far pleasant morning, stealing all the warmth and light in a single second.

"Excuse me for a minute."

He rises from his chair and Bill follows suit, grabbing Henry's elbow.

"What's wrong, Henry?"

"I need to talk to Abigail."

Right on cue, she appears from the kitchen. She freezes to the spot seeing Bill firmly holding onto Henry.

"Are you two fighting?" she asks, knitting her brows.

"We aren't—" Bill starts but Henry cuts him off.

"Can I have a word, Abigail? In private."

Bill lets go of Henry but doesn't move from his spot. "I'm not comfortable leaving you alone with him."

"We're adults," says Abigail, "I'm sure we can have a civilized conversation, can't we, Henry?"

"Oh, I'm civilized."

"I don't like it," Bill shakes his head, "but be it. The only reason I leave you alone with him is because, despite his history, I know that Henry would never hurt you. I mean, physically because emotionally, well, I'm not so sure about that— Actually, I know for a fact that he—"

"Bill, you're really not helping."

"For goodness' sake, I don't want to hurt anybody!" Henry exclaims. "I just want to clear up a misunderstanding."

"Yeah, misunderstandings always turn me into a caveman, too," Bill grumbles.

"Don't exaggerate," Abigail warns him. "I don't know what happened between you two in the past few minutes but if Henry wants to talk to me, well, I'm here."

"I'll be around."

One day he won't be able to hold himself back and Henry will to punch the _good_ sheriff. But until that he settles for bitter remarks like, "Fine, and tomorrow every guest at the saloon will gossip about how I gave a black eye to Abigail."

"I already apologised for that and—"

"—and now everything starts all over again." Henry throws up his hands in the air. "I know, I know. It's my fault just as much as it's yours. Maybe we should ignore each other in the future."

"Brilliant idea." Bill rolls his eyes. "It might be your first good idea ever."

Abigail crosses her arms in front of her chest. "If you don't stop this— this— whatever is this right now, I'll ban both of you from my café."

"Okay, I'll leave you two alone," Bill surrenders. "Have a nice day, Abigail. Henry."

When he's finally out of the door, Abigail turns to Henry. "So? What is so important that it made you two fight—again?"

Henry braces himself. "Abigail, you promised me you wouldn't talk about James to anybody."

"Henry, I—"

"You _promised_ ," he repeats, his voice firm and unforgiving.

"I know, Henry, and I'm sorry for breaking my promise but," she looks fiercely into his eyes, "I'm not sorry for talking to Bill."

"Abigail, you shouldn't have—"

"Please, don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do." Abigail takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. "Henry, you never ask for help, not even when you need it, but I couldn't just stand aside and watch you suffer from the gossiping folk of Hope Valley."

Henry shakes his head. No, she doesn't understand the problem, she really doesn't. "Abigail, listen. I'd never break a promise that I made to you. Never."

Abigail pales but stands her ground. "Actually, I didn't _promise_ anything." She also seems to be growing impatient. "You said you'd prefer if I didn't tell anybody about your brother's death—and I respected your preference up to the point when I couldn't stand it anymore. As I said, I'm not sorry for that and I'd do that again without hesitation."

"Then we have nothing to talk about."

"What do you mean?"

"If you're capable of breaking a promise because you want to feel good about the fact that you made an effort, then we might not be friends at all."

"Is that what you really think?" They are almost shouting now. "Because if you value so-called but not-really-is promises more than your friends, then no wonder you're a lonely man, Henry Gowen."

Henry silently puts a few notes for the coffee on the table and walks out of the café into the cold, dark morning without looking back.

For once and all, they're done.


	18. Chapter 18

News spread quicker than the plague and by next Monday every single soul in Hope Valley knows about Henry's sudden fortune—if you can call it _fortune_ when your estranged brother dies in a disease and leaves you all his money. It doesn't matter that Henry didn't steal the money, the people still think he doesn't deserve it, so the malicious glances and whispers don't stop. But Henry doesn't care anymore; he stopped caring at the very moment when the door of the café closed behind him. He can't think of anything else but Abigail.

Why did he get so upset with her? Easy question. No matter what he tells himself, Abigail is more important to him than anyone else in Hope Valley. Also, she's probably the one whom he had caused the most suffering. He wronged her again and again, and now he fears they reached the point of no return. What if she will never forgive him? _Serves me right,_ Henry thinks and strikes the wood with his axe so forcefully the log immediately splits into two.

He lifts the axe and strikes. Then strikes again. And again. Again.

Abigail is the best friend he has ever had. On the other hand, Henry is probably the worst friend Abigail has ever had. It's not enough that he'd hurt her in the past, no, now he continues hurting her further. First he offends Faith because he'd had a bad week, then he pours his frustration on Abigail because he has no self-discipline.

His muscles are cramping and despite the cold weather sweat is running down on his back but Henry doesn't stop working. He knows from experience that physical pain doesn't dull the aching of the soul but it's said to help with easing the mind.

Well, it isn't easing his mind at all. No matter what, he probably flung away his last chance of making things right with Abigail. What right did he have to call her to account for promises? No right, especially not for promises she didn't even make. Nevertheless, it still stings. Abigail only wanted to help, yes, he appreciates that—but wishes she'd have come to him. Why did she have to run to Bill? Why didn't she try to talk to Henry first? She's one stubborn woman, eventually she'd have made him see reason. If Abigail would have talked to Henry first, he would have faced Bill, and all of them would have been saved from harsh words and unnecessary heartache.

Of course, there's a slight chance that Abigail isn't suffering as much as him. Henry might have hurt her with his words but maybe she's relieved she doesn't have to deal with him anymore. He's wronged her many times; she shouldn't feel bad because he won't force his friendship on her anymore. Abigail clearly doesn't see him as her equal—and how could a convicted felon be _her_ equal?

All the same, Henry wishes that, even if he's not worthy of her, she'd have come to him first.

Henry stacks up the logs in the woodshed and takes an armful into the house. Cat is sitting on the sofa, reading a letter but when he enters, she lowers it and smiles at him.

"I see" she says "that we won't be short on firewood for a while. Thank you."

"It's nothing."

"You should accept a well-deserved thank you." Cat shakes her head when Henry opens his mouth to protest. "No, don't say anything—you deserve a thank you for all the work you do for us."

"It's really—" he starts but under Cat's frown he quickly changes his mind, "You're welcome."

"Come, sit down and rest."

She motions to the armchair next to the sofa but Henry hesitates.

"I should go. I can see that I interrupted your reading."

"And I can see that you're troubled."

He shakes off the remark with a sad smile. "I'm troubling myself. Never mind."

Apparently, it's not the answer she wants to hear.

"Henry Gowen, I've never in my life begged a man to sit and chat with me!" Cat snaps. "I'm not starting now. I've read Gabe's letter a hundred times and I'm going out of my mind with being here all alone and not talking to anyone. Then you show up to chop a dozen tons of wood but you won't talk to me?!"

"I'm sorry, Cat." Henry lowers himself into the armchair. "I was too absorbed in my problem—again. It might be the story of my life." He sighs. Time to change the topic. "How is Gabe doing?"

"He's doing fine. Actually, he promised to visit soon. I can't wait to see him again—and finally meet his wife."

Henry can't believe his ears. "His wife?"

"Yes, they got married two months ago."

"But Gabe, he was just a little kid yesterday—"

"—and he's a grown-up man today. I know, I know; it feels strange, seeing my little baby growing up so quickly." She absent-mindedly strokes the letter with her thumb. "Gabe is eighteen, working in a big city, far away from home, and married! Sounds unbelievable, right? Whenever he visits, I'm shocked by how much he changed since the last time I'd seen him. But he'll be my firstborn son forever, that will never change. I remember when I held him in my arms for the first time. He was such a beautiful baby; a strong, healthy one."

Henry nods, gaze shifting to the floor. Marriage, parenthood—just two of the many things he missed out. He'll never know how does it feel to hold your child for the first time.

His thoughts return to Abigail. No matter what he does, he can't get her out of his mind. Peter Stanton got married at a young age—and died at a young age. Abigail lost her only son and it's Henry's fault. The list of his sins is infinite. Abigail lost her family. Cat lost her husband. Gabe lost his father and his chance to study. And why? Because Henry took it all away from them.

"Gabriel grew up into a fine young man," Henry croaks after a long pause.

"Yes, and I'm very proud of him."

"I hope you're proud of yourself, too." He fidgets in his seat. "When he comes home, I'd be grateful if I could meet Gabe. Of course, I understand if he doesn't want to see me—"

"Well, it doesn't hurt to ask." Cat puts the letter back to the envelope. "He didn't write a date, just that they'd come as soon as possible. I hope they'll arrive before winter does."

"Why?"

She sighs, folding her hands in her lap. "I fear we're about to face a harsh winter." Before Henry could ask her what she means, Cat sends him a smile and says, "But thanks to my neighbor, I'll always have enough wood to keep out the cold."

-:-:-:-

Henry and Faith spend a whole morning with taking every single bottle and box off the shelves, thoroughly dusting said shelves, then putting everything back to its place. Faith makes them wear surgical masks in order to avoid inhaling too much dust. However, this doesn't stop her from chatting.

"Did you know that Paul Berger was the first one to use a surgical mask during operation?"

"I didn't even know Paul Berger existed."

"Don't worry; I only know this information because I helped Philip with his school project. Doctor Berger also developed a method of interscapulothoracic amputation but I kept this information to myself. Interscapulothoracic is quite a mouthful."

"I bet that's not even a real English word. You's only made it up now."

"Ha-ha. Anyway, Philip wrote a brilliant paper about how surgical masks help to reduce the risk of infection. I was so proud of him! It's not easy to do schoolwork when you don't have a proper library, just those few books Elizabeth got for the school."

"But they have something else beside books; they have a helpful and smart nurse to assist them."

Even with the mask covering her face, Henry can picture Faith's shy smile.

"The credit goes to Carson, too. He helped a lot, he did. For example, Emily was writing about Ignaz Semmelweis and Carson told her everything he knew about him."

"I'm sorry who is this Sem- Sam- Who is he again?"

"He was a doctor who saved the lives of many mothers because he realised that the incidence of childbed fever could be drastically cut only if the doctors and midwives would wash their hands first!" Faith puts the last box of cotton wool back to the shelf. "His ideas were laughed at but his mockers couldn't erase his influence. Nor could this war. Semmelweis was born in the Austro-Hungarian Empire and we might fight his country now but we don't fight his ideas anymore." She takes off the mask and tucks a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. "He saved lives and that's respectful, borders and wars be damned! Ohh, I mean… Sorry, I might have gotten carried away—"

"No, please, go on."

"I just love how Emily and Philip and all the kids of Hope Valley let themselves be influenced by great people."

 _Maybe I should look for someone great to influence me,_ Henry thinks. Of course, he wouldn't need to search for too long. And not just because Faith stands right in front of him.

 _Abigail._

When will he finally let her influence him?

"Tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Excuse me?"

The question wakes him from his dreamy state. "Nothing, I was just talking to myself." He hands her his mask. "I was wondering… All right, it might sound stupid but is Cat Montgomery allowed to go outside? In her current condition, I mean."

"Why, of course she is! If she feels strong enough, she should take short walks. Preferably not alone, tough."

"I could accompany Cat. If she's up to it." Henry scratches his neck; he's unsure how to put his thoughts into words. "Last time I visited her, she seemed… lonely. No, that's not the right word. How do I explain it?"

"Henry, you don't need to explain anything. It's natural that a patient who's been confined to her room for months, longs to spend more time in the open. If you're amenable to look out for her, that's great! It's a great idea, Henry."

"Not my idea, not really," he shrugs, "I just remembered when the good doctor had ordered me to take a walk every day after- after my accident."

"Well then, great thinking." Faith smiles. "Your time here is rubbing off on you."

Henry can't help but smile back. "Only because I have a great teacher."


	19. Chapter 19

The first morning when Cat feels strong enough to take a short walk, is chilly but dry. The sky is wearing a pale grey colour and it's obvious that Miles Montgomery doesn't like the idea of his mother going out with Henry as her support. Nevertheless Henry offers his arm and they start walking towards the lake. They won't reach it today, it's too far; such a long walk would surely exhaust Cat, but it's a direction as good as anything else. Maybe one day they'll make it to the lake and back.

They walk in contemplative silence for a few minutes. Henry keeps casting concerned looks at Cat from the corner of his eyes. How is she doing? What if they misjudged her strength and she'll be too tired to walk back on her own? Well, he's ready to carry her home in his arms if she's all right with that. He just hopes this won't be a bad experience for her. It was his idea, after all—and what if he was wrong? Of course, Faith said that it should be fine but… but… But. If Cat Montgomery collapses while walking with him, Henry will never be able to face her again.

"I'm fine."

Oh. All right. His concerned looks might not have been so subtle after all.

"That's- that's good. I'm glad to hear it."

"Relax. I won't die on you."

More minutes pass in silence.

Now that he feels more at ease, Henry's thoughts turn onto Abigail. It's been more than a week since they last talked—if you can call angry words and harsh accusations 'talking'. A whole week without her smile! Henry must be an idiot if he thought that his own frustration is worth more than a single smile from her. So what if she went and talked to Bill, not him? When he had the chance, Henry didn't even try to talk with Abigail, he immediately started arguing. No wonder she didn't think of him as her equal.

"Henry, I don't want to interfere but—" Cat starts, breaking his train of thoughts, but stops mid-sentence.

"But?"

Was he thinking out loud? No, he wasn't. Henry Gowen isn't an old ninny mumbling to himself, not yet.

"No, no, I'm absolutely against meddling so I shouldn't say anything."

"Advice isn't meddling, so you could advise me," Henry suggests. "Even though I'll probably regret encouraging you to—"

"—to meddle?"

"That's not what I wanted to say."

Cat laughs; it's a short, breathless laugh. "All right, here's my advice. Ready?"

"I'm listening."

"If you hurt someone, apologise to them. If someone hurt you, talk it over with them. It's the easiest way and you'll feel better in the end."

Henry knits his eyebrows. "How do you know I'm in conflict with someone?"

"Henry" Cat looks at him with a piercing gaze—it's a mother-like look, which is funny coming from a woman younger than him. Well, probably younger. Henry has never thought about her exact age. She's certainly old enough to have at least one grown-up kid and definitely too young to be so ill. "You're always in conflict with someone. Of course, mostly with yourself."

"How do you know it isn't something bigger? Something that can't be resolved with an apology?"

"Really big troubles rarely stay hidden in such a small community."

Henry wonders when did she become so wise…? But it's more likely that he's becoming more stupid with every day. Such a simple solution for his problem, yet it had to be spelt out for him. Of course, there is always the chance that Abigail will refuse his apology and she has no reason to forgive him (again) but he _needs_ to earn her forgiveness. Again. It's a never-ending story but maybe, just maybe one day he'll get it right.

"Thank you for the advice."

"Don't mention it." Cat shakes her head, grimacing. "I'm already regretting giving any. What did I think? Meddling like some gossiping old bat, seriously," she mumbles and Henry laughs. "Let's turn back before things get out of hand."

"Yes, ma'am."

-:-:-:-

Henry knocks and waits. It's quite late for a visit but he had so many good reasons not to come earlier, even though he had nothing to do all day. Since the war has started, business at the saloon is going more poorly with every passing day. Now it's only open for six days in a week. Tonight the saloon is closed, thus Henry had plenty of time to help out at the infirmary, to escort Cat on a walk—and to pay a visit to Abigail. So why the late hour?

First, he didn't want to disturb Abigail while she was busy at the café. Then, naturally, she had to attend her duties as mayor. No place for him there. Later, when Cody arrived home from school, Henry was worried he would barge into the middle of dinner—or at least, general family time. Even when he finally directed his steps towards her door, he almost turned back because Abigail must be resting by now…

Yet he stands, knocking and waiting.

He should have brought flowers. All right, maybe not such a good idea. Chocolate? Too romantic. White flag? Too direct and not funny at all, especially not in these war-ridden times.

His wandering thoughts are cut short when the door opens and he's faced with a pale and teary-eyed Abigail.

Good evening. I see this is an inconvenient time, should I come back tomorrow? Sorry I have such an awful sense of timing.

So many things Henry could say right now instead of—

"Oh, Abigail," he rather breathes than says it as he steps closer to her. He takes her hand and gently guides her inside the house where they sit down on the sofa. She lifts her free hand and covers her mouth, trying to muffle the sob that breaks up from her chest. "What's wrong?"

 _This question; it's wrong,_ Henry mentally chides himself. _Me troubling her now, that's what._

"Jesse decided to enlist," Abigail says through her tears. "Jack too."

"What?"

"Remember when Jesse got the white feather? It just kept eating away at him until he couldn't bear it anymore. And Jack, well, he wants to fight the good fight." Her voice breaks. "Henry, I'm not sure anymore that it's the _good_ fight! I know that bad things happen when good people do nothing but— But there must be good people on both sides! Good people who get hurt or die in this war because... because..."

Henry wants to hug her to comfort her but that would be a huge overstepping of boundaries so he just gently squeezes her hand.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this." He tries to keep his voice soft, barely above a whisper. "But we'll pray for them and wait for them. The war won't last forever and they will return to us, safe and sound. We must believe that Jack and Jesse will come back!"

Abigail nods and dries her eyes with a handkerchief. "I believe but it's- it's hard."

"I know. You had to be strong today when they broke you the news, didn't you? Elizabeth and Clara needed your support. Jack and Jesse needed you to be strong." Henry can picture the scene easily. "So you were strong for them. You're always strong and you're always there for everyone. Even for the ungrateful devils like me."

"Henry, about your brother—"

But he puts a finger to her lips. "We'll talk about that—later. You've always supported me so now I want to help _you_. This isn't the time to talk about my problems; it's time to take the weight off your shoulders."

"Thank you," she whispers, her breath tickling his finger and he quickly withdraws his hand. "Please, pray with me."

"Gladly."

And they clasp their hand and bow their heads and together they pray. There might not be peace in Europe but there is peace between the two of them.


	20. Chapter 20

"Why are you working for me, Henry?"

Caught unprepared, Henry flinches at the question. "Pardon?"

"I mean, you could easily afford not to have a job, yet you're still working for me," Jeremy Black points out.

Henry stops, his hands resting on the back of a chair, and frowns.

The saloon is closed and empty now. The guests headed home, only Henry and the Blacks remained to tidy up. Working in comfortable silence, they're almost finished, only need to turn the chairs upside down, putting them on the tables, while Helen is dealing with the kitchen.

"Are you firing me?"

"No."

"Good."

Much to his surprise, Henry finds that he _does_ feel good about the fact that he won't lose the poorly paid job he used to call 'menial'— and which he doesn't need anymore. Or at least, he doesn't need the financial support anymore but he needs the activity and the company. Even though Sam is really missing from the picture, Henry enjoys working with the Blacks. Jeremy is a sturdy man of goodwill and Helen is his equal companion; their marriage rests on so solid foundations that Henry almost envies them for it.

"So?" Black is still looking at him expectantly.

"So what?"

"So why are you working for me? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that you're working here. With us. But at the same time, I don't want to make you feel obliged to stay here."

Apparently, the feeling is mutual—Henry likes it here and his work is appreciated. A night of surprises.

"Look, I prefer not to advertise it but it's true that I have enough money to start my own business or just lay back and watch the days pass by." Henry toyed with both ideas for a while as both of them were quite tempting. It would feel nice to lead a comfortable, uncaring life again— and it would probably take him back to where he began. "But I don't want to do that. It's just not what I need right now."

Jeremy rarely smiles so that half-smile that appears on his face looks almost strange on him. It also looks genuine and friendly.

"Because right now you need to work here…? At the saloon?"

"Strange as it sounds, yes. I think I need to work here."

"Well, good for us."

Maybe, just maybe, Henry can add another name to the short list of his friends.

-:-:-:-

"Hello, Cat."

The kids are already at school when Henry arrives to lure Cat out of the house. The weather is pleasant—cold but dry—and he hasn't visited her properly for days. There was a procession of patients at the infirmary—here a sprained wrist, there an inflamed throat… Henry spent all his free time helping Faith and Carson, and even though he checked in on the Montgomerys on occasion, he never stayed to chat.

"Henry?"

Judging by how faint and rasp Cat sounds, there won't be much chatting today.

"Cat!" Henry is by her side in a blink of an eye. "What's wrong?"

"'m thirsty," she slurs, the words barely comprehensible. Henry fetches a cup of water for her and realises that it won't work. He'll have to support her head because Cat looks too weak to drink on her own.

"Here," he says, very carefully sliding an arm under her neck and tries to lift her head onto his shoulder.

Cat cries out in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Henry doesn't panic—but nearly. All those hours spent at the infirmary and the first time he tries to take care of a patient, he hurts her. Well done, Henry Gowen.

"It's fine."

Henry wants to laugh, or cry, or both. It's so not fine when the patient wants to calm their caretaker. That's the opposite of fine.

"It just hurts so much."

"Where does it hurt the most?"

"Back. My back and—" Cat gasps and convulses in pain. "And my neck hurts."

 _All right, Henry. Remember not to lose your head. You can do this. Or rather, the best thing you can do is to get professional help._

"Cat, I'm going to take my hand away, alright?" Henry tries very, very carefully pull his arm away but Cat is seizing with pain again. "There. I'm going for help now."

"Henry—"

"Yes, it's me, it's Henry. I'm coming back and I'm bringing help. Hold on, Cat, I'm coming back."

He rushes out of the house and heads to the infirmary. He isn't running, it's more like a hurried march but it's the best he can do with his bad knee. It's not enough. How he wishes Cat had a useful neighbour…!

His wish is granted in an unexpected way as he spots Reverend Anderson in the distance. A rather strange miracle but Henry couldn't care less right now.

"Reverend!" he shouts. "Reverend Anderson!"

The good reverend stops in his tracks and turns around, surprise written all over his face. He's opening his mouth but Henry beats him to it and pours everything on him at once.

"Please, quick, I need you to find Dr. Shepherd. He should be at the infirmary. Tell him that Cat's feeling severe pain in her back. She's probably dehydrated, too."

Reverend Anderson pales. "Cat? Is she…? What happened?"

Henry wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he snaps out of his shock.

"Anderson, listen to me!" His harsh tone is as good as shaking the man because the reverend seems to be back with him, eyes focused and paying attention. "You go to the infirmary now. Take Carson or Faith to the Montgomerys' house. I'll look after Cat. Hurry!"

A running reverend is an unusual sight but Henry has no time to stare after him because he's already turning back. He finds Cat in a similar state just as he left her. Much to his pain, he can do little else but sit with her and gingerly hold her hand, telling her that she's not alone, he's here and help will come soon.

And he can't help but wonder if he should go to the school and take Miles and Emily home. They would never forgive him if they couldn't say goodbye to their mother.

-:-:-:-

"She needs to rest but she'll be fine," Carson says and Henry feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. However, he notices the worry lines deepening around Carson's mouth and the graveness of his voice. "I think she'll be out for the rest of the day; I gave her very strong painkillers. I'll stay with her until Emily and Miles arrive home, then I'll send Faith over for the night."

"I can stay," Henry offers. "You must have a lot of other patients."

But Carson shakes his head. "Thank you but it has to be me. Her children should hear from a doctor that their mother won't recover."

As the words settle in, Henry feels the blood turn into ice in his veins.

"How much…?"

"I don't know. She might have months, or maybe just days. Hard to tell exactly but it's the final stage of her illness."

"Can't she even say goodbye to her kids?"

"Cat will have lucid moments, and some days will come when she'll feel much better. So, yes, she'll be able to her goodbyes. But it's only a matter of time now."

"Someone should write to Gabe," Henry says and finds himself fighting back tears. Calm down, he tells himself. This is not the end. Almost— but not yet. If Cat was awake, she'd chide him for crying over something that hasn't even happened. "Her elder son works in Cape Fullerton," he explains to Carson.

"Can't you write to him?"

"I don't think that's a good idea." Henry absent-mindedly scratches his chin, thinking. It should be someone closer to the children, someone who can give them support and kindness... Oh! He might have the perfect person in mind. "But I'll ask Elizabeth; she used to be his teacher."

It's a difficult task but Elizabeth will know how to break the news gently.

By the way, breaking the news…

"Can I tell the reverend about Cat's state?" Henry asks, nodding towards the door. While Henry remained inside in case Carson needed some help, Reverend Anderson stayed outside to play watchman. They didn't want Miles or Emily happily rushing home and find their mother trashing with pain. Not that they've shown much happiness in the last few months. The carelessness of childhood was taken from them too soon and too harshly.

"I'm sure the good reverend won't gossip."

"Fine. I'll be next door if you need something."

Henry turns to leave but Carson's voice stops him,

"Thank you for being here for Cat."

Another day Henry would argue or just shrug it off with a grunt but now he can't. Not after today. So he nods instead, then steps outside and closes the door. Reverend Anderson is walking up and down in front of the house but at the click of the doorknob he stops and looks at Henry. His eyes are full of hope, desperation and anxiety— and they are full of something that Henry can't name but seems to be running deep and looks very painful.

"She's fine for the moment." Henry can see it. He can see the relieved softening of the reverend's features, and he can see his fingers twitching with lingering expectations. The reverend is readying himself for a blow that Henry is about to bring. "However, she's unconscious, so she shouldn't be visited today. Maybe today, if she feels better."

"If?"

"Carson can't tell. He expects her to have better moments but—"

"Moments?" The reverend flinches like he has been punched. There. The blow has landed.

"No hope for recovery. This is the final stage."

Maybe Henry should have asked Faith to teach him how to break bad news because now here he stands, completely unprepared for the situation he's in. The reverend most likely despises him and yet… and yet he has to hear it from Henry.

"Is Carson sure? Shouldn't we call another doctor to examine her? Someone from Cape Fullerton or—"

"Carson is a very good doctor. He saved my life and he'd save Cat's if he could—"

"You!" Anderson points a finger at him and his sudden burst of anger takes Henry by surprise. "Of all people, he saved _you_! It's your fault! If Cat dies, it will be your fault."

"How could her illness be my fault?"

But the reverend has crossed a line and he doesn't seem to listen to reasons anymore.

"You're an illness! You took her husband, then you kept poisoning her life. Nothing is enough for you, nothing, until you ruin _everything_."

Henry has a thick skin and he can stomach many things but the _good_ reverend's words light new flames in him. The flames of anger and the fire of hurt. He is tired of blaming himself for everything. He has done terrible things and wronged Cat Montgomery in many ways but he is not ready for blaming himself for her impending death.

"May I remind you that you poisoned her life just as well? That you tried to ruin her? It was your doing, too, so back off with your mighty morales! At least I tried to make amends."

"What amends? You dragged her outside on those stupid walks that probably took _months_ from her life. You played the good neighbour but I can see through you and you'll never change, Henry Gowen. You're a poison to everyone."

Henry narrows his eyes. _There you go_ , he thinks. It's partly about Cat Montgomery, yes. But mostly it's about the reverend blaming Henry for using his weakness and turning him into a worse man than he should have been.

Well, he isn't taking this medicine today.

"You know nothing about me, Anderson. You're a pitiful little man, small and weak. Your God left you long ago and you know that, you just don't want to face it. There is no hope for you in Hope Valley."

Anderson takes a step back and squares his shoulders.

"You're probably right." They didn't raise their voices and yet he sounds hoarse. "And maybe I should apologise for my tone or for my exaggerations but I'm probably right, too. Let's face it, we ruin everything we touch—deliberately or involuntarily, it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does—" Henry tries to argue further but the reverend cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

"For someone who likes to tell others harsh home truths, you don't really like facing the truth about your own life, do you?" Anderson glances at the Montgomerys' house and for a moment the fury in his eyes is clouded by pain and longing— then his gaze returns to Henry and once again his eyes are filled with disgust. "I hope that you'll find your peace one day."

Henry snorts; a humourless sound. "You don't."

"No, I don't," the reverend admits without any sign of remorse. "We might be the worst men in the world."

"Bold of you to say that when a war is raging in Europe."

"And yet I still mean it."

Henry doesn't say it out loud but he has to admit to himself at least—the reverend has become a tougher man since he returned to Hope Valley.


	21. Chapter 21

The moment Henry spots the husky "Molson ale" man playing cards in the saloon he knows that trouble will rise soon enough. It's been in the air since the railroad became short on supplies—the war is showing its teeth everywhere—, which means that the workers have been out of work for days now. Even while playing poker, the man seems bored with himself and has a menacing scowl on his face—he's looking for entertainment. Something like picking a fight.

Of course, he should know better than picking a fight with the town's sheriff.

This is how it happens.

Bill enters the saloon and, much to Henry's surprise, walks up to the counter. Right. Maybe he expected to see Jeremy there—which would have been more comfortable for both of them—but he isn't a man who backs down. Fine. Henry can be polite. He's quite sure it's in his job description somewhere: yadda-yadda-yadda and politely attending to the town's sheriff who hates you and the feeling is mutual.

"Hello, Henry. Can we talk?"

So, he _did_ expect Henry behind the counter after all.

Henry suppresses a sigh—he's way too familiar with the good old script of a "Henry and Bill try (and fail) to talk" scene.

"Sure. Although I'm kind of busy right now, so…" He lets the end of the sentence fade away but Bill doesn't hit the cue. "Can't it wait? I have a break in an hour or so—"

"I'd prefer to get done with it now."

It might be just Henry's imagination but Bill seems nervous. Bill "I'm cool as an icicle" Avery nervous? Never a good sign.

"Okay." This time Henry can't hold back a sigh. "Come on. This is no place for a professional conversation."

"This isn't a—" But Henry has already gone around the corner and taken a seat at an empty table. "It's a private conversation, actually," Bill says but nevertheless, sits down, facing Henry.

"A private investigation then?" Henry provokes him, making the good sheriff groan.

"Please, don't start. I'm here to offer you an olive branch, so to speak."

"And you find that so hard that you just want to be done with it?" Much to his own surprise, Henry wants to laugh at the situation. Are they really this hopeless?

"Yes? No? Will you just listen to me?"

This time Henry can't help but laugh—and it attracts the do-no-good ale guy's attention like the smell of blood attracts a lynx. (At least, some people can still hit a cue.)

"So, the law's recruiting thieves now, eh?" Molson Ale man spats.

"This is a private discussion," Bill says coolly and maybe, _maybe_ they can drop it.

"Is that how yo' are callin' it now?"

Or maybe they can't.

"When I said _private_ , I meant _not your business_."

"Oh, but it's my business when the sheriff is teaming up with criminals. Who knows, maybe I should report yo'."

His self-satisfied grin makes Henry frown. "And what do you want to report, exactly?"

The guy looks confused for a second but finds his voice in no time. "Or maybe I should report yo' to yo'r boss." He points a finger at Henry. "Yo' know, neglecting yo'r job an' stuff."

Bill stands up, pushing back his chair so forcefully that its legs make a loud, screeching noise across the floor, and Henry follows suit.

"I think you should go back to your beer," Bill warns the guy before nodding to Henry. "I'll see you later, at a more… convenient time," and with that, he turns to leave.

Henry's still looking at the trouble-maker because no chance the guy would let go of his prey so easily—and that's right, in slow motion, like time has stopped, he can see Molson ale man raise a fist... Then time catches up with itself and everything seems to happen at the same second.

Henry takes a step forward, an instinctive movement, and tries to warn Bill— _Bill_ , the shrewd old fox, who was careless enough to turn his back on trouble.

"Bill, watch—"

And this is the very moment when Molson ale man's fist connects with Henry's chin, rendering him speechless. Ouch.

Henry staggers but manages to stay upright by catching the edge of the table. He rather suspects than sees the second blow coming and raises his free arm to fend it off. His head might be swimming but at least his reflexes have woken up. A small mercy.

Bill catches the man's wrist and in one swift movement twists his arm around his back.

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name, Mr…?"

"Holt," the man grunts.

"Well, then, Mr. Holt, I think it's time to chat and I just have the perfect place in mind for that." Bill looks around, addressing his next words to the dead silent saloon. "I'm warning you, if anyone else is looking for trouble, you'll join your friend in his cell before you could say _moose_."

Henry would smile at Bill's choice of word (moose, really?!) but his face hurts too much. He will feel and wear the memory of the little incident for a while but he couldn't care less about his looks. What matters is that he didn't lose a tooth nor did his skin break so he doesn't need to see Faith or Carson about it. Maybe if he pretends that nothing happened, just this once everyone will leave him in peace.

-:-:-:-

Of course it's too much to ask for a little bit of peace but it's Abigail who finds Henry licking his wounds (metaphorically, not physically), so it's a win-win. Half of his face purple or not, he finds that he doesn't mind her presence at all. A small part of him even hopes that Abigail came to visit him because she cares, not because Bill couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Bill told me what happened at the saloon."

Well, Henry shouldn't be greedy, should he? No matter why she came, it's always a great comfort to see Abigail.

"Here. This might help," and she offers him a small jar full of thick, sage-smelling salve.

"Thank you." Henry takes the jar, awkwardly turning it around in his hands. "You shouldn't have— It isn't a big deal, really."

Abigail smiles. "Maybe not but I wanted to be sure you were fine." She glances down for a moment, hesitating and shy, but when she looks back at him, her voice almost sounds playful. "And I wanted to hear your version of the story."

"I, I could walk you home, if you don't mind, and tell you," Henry stammers. "Although there isn't much to tell, not really..."

"Well, it's settled then."

In the end, Henry tells her how _he_ experienced the incident, and it sounds like quite a funny story. In the heat of the moment he couldn't see the humorous side of the situation but now, as he is recalling the events, he can laugh at its absurdity.

"Maybe my relationship with Bill is doomed. He comes offering peace and I end up punched in the face? Doomed, I say," he concludes and they laugh like two unruly children until they can't breathe. When they reach the café, they're still giggling and Abigail needs to wipe away a few tears of laughter.

"You know, for someone who doesn't even like Bill, you do an awfully good job of protecting him."

"Do I?"

"Twice you've shielded him from harm, getting hurt in the process…" Abigail lets her words fade away as a cloud of gloom passes over her face. She must be remembering the case of the gun that went off. Now, now, that felt much nastier than a punch.

"I can promise one thing," Henry groans, massaging his chin—it's a pitiful attempt to divert Abigail's attention from the memory of that gunshot. "I'll never ever step in front of Bill again."

"I'll hold you to your promise," Abigail says and Henry is glad to see her smiling again. "Do you need help with that?" she asks, pointing at the jar.

The question makes Henry think of the one time in the infirmary when Abigail shaved him because his hands were shaking too much. Well. He can candidly admit that Abigail has seen him in his lowest and weakest moments.

"Thank you but I hope I'll manage."

As much as he craves human touch, Henry is no damsel in distress; he can cream his own face.

"All right. You know where to find me if—"

"—if I need you."

"—if you need anything, yes."

All right. Henry will pretend that he hasn't just blurted out that he needed Abigail personally. Not that it should come as a surprise for anyone, really. Despite their history—or more like, given their history—, she's probably the person closest to him. What a heavy thought.

"Henry, there's something else we haven't discussed yet and it keeps bothering me."

It's not that his stomach immediately tightents into a knot or anything.

"Yes?"

"Maybe if we could go inside?" Abigail suggests and Henry immediately thinks, _oh, no, another private conversation._

Surely, Abigail is much better company than Bill but today just doesn't seem like the right day for peaceful private discussions.

"Yes, why not?"

Abigail pats his elbow gently. "Don't look so scared. I want to talk about your brother if you're alright with that."

They sit down in the living room, side by side on the sofa, and Henry braces himself for an awkward conversation.

"Look, I won't say I'm sorry for telling Bill about your brother because I'd do it again without hesitation if it meant shaking you out of your own stubbornness. Even if you get angry with me. Which is absolutely fair, I mean, getting angry with me, because it wasn't my story to tell but—" Abigail rubs her face. "No, I'm not doing it right."

"No, it's fine, really—"

"No, it's not fine," she shakes her head impatiently. "Henry, I hate seeing you suffer. So yes, actually, I'm sorry. For telling Bill without asking you first and for meddling with your affairs instead of offering comfort. But still, I'd do it again without hesitation if— _if_ I can't bring you out of your isolation otherwise."

And he thought he had made some progress with the people of Hope Valley…

As if reading his mind, Abigail quickly adds, "I know what you've achieved in this town and I'm glad you decided to give us a second chance. Most people in Hope Valley see a different man now, I'm sure of it. But in your grief you shut yourself away from everyone— and even though I only wanted to help, I chose the wrong method. Which isn't an excuse or anything, so I apologise."

Henry wonders if they'll ever have a conversation that has nothing to do with hurt feelings.

"Apology accepted—if you forgive me for my behaviour."

"Oh, I see you love beating yourself up." Yesterday's news, Abigail. "All right, mutual apologies accepted _and_ I promise to talk to you first before talking about you."

"And I promise to talk— Well, more talking."

Congratulations, Henry Gowen. That didn't sound awkward at all—but at least it made Abigail laugh.

"Goodness, sorry, I'm an awful host," she gasps, laughter suddenly gone, her face rapidly turning beet red. "I didn't even ask you if you wanted a cup of coffee—"

"I think it's too late for drinking coffee."

"Right. Maybe something to eat? How about a late night scone?"

In Henry's opinion, Abigail's embarrassment is adorable.

"No, thank you, I'm good. If anything, I should go home and let you retire for the night. I've kept you up long enough."

"I enjoyed your company. Very much."

At hearing her kind words, Henry tries not to trip over his own legs—or drop the jar of the magical cream for bruises.

He must be tired. Yes, that must be it.

"I'll come back for that coffee tomorrow morning."

"Now, this is another promise I'll hold you to."

When Henry steps out of the building, he spots Reverend Anderson walking on the street. He'd pretend to ignore him but Abigail says quietly into his ear,

"He looks lonely."

Henry tries to shrug his uncomfortable feelings off. "Every man is an island."

"Maybe, but sometimes there are visitors."

The reverend disappears from their range of vision but it's too late—there's a foul taste in Henry's mouth. If Abigail wasn't standing by his side, he'd have easily acted like the reverend was a mere puff of smoke. But now? Now he'll have to act like an adult—and eventually face Anderson. If he could choose, he'd prefer getting punched twice rather than talking with the reverend but fine. Let it be.

Tomorrow he'll cut the metaphorical olive branch and offer it to Anderson.


End file.
